Amicus Humani Generis
by Julia456
Summary: JAG and XMen and Sentinels, oh my! Beast goes on trial and I question my sanity in writing this.
1. 1

Spoilers: up to "Day of Reckoning"; up to but not including "Enemy Below." That's important, all you non-JAG people, because in "EB" something Very Bad happened and things post-"EB" (read: Season 8) are probably not gonna include Harm and Mac being overly cheerful and stuff.

Disclaimer haiku:  
Now, JAG, DB owns;  
And mutants are Marvelous,  
So don't sue me, 'kay?

Notes: I swear by all that is holy, if "DoR" hadn't explicitly mentioned Marines, I would not have written this. Honest! But because it _did_ explicitly mention Marines, and because I happen to be madly infatuated with a show that has a lot of Marines in it... well, okay, you get the idea. This is a wee more X-Men than JAG, but that's only 'cause of who the narrator is. Also, please disregard the fact that Harm collected X-Men comics as a child, as stated in the episode "Someone To Watch Over Annie." (Harm is just so cool! :) )

And yes, I know the new season is only weeks away, and a post-"DoR" fic now is kinda cutting things close. Also I haven't finished it yet. But who cares? On with the fic!

* * *

_"Who are they? Where are they from? Government investigators are..."_  
- news snippet from "Day of Reckoning"

* * *

There was some debate over what to do with the four mutant prisoners. They were going to be taken into military custody; they had been already, in fact, not two seconds after the Marine helicopters had landed. No, it was the green, cement-like shells they'd been encased in, courtesy of the downed Sentinel, that proved to be the sticking point in the talks. One of the Marines - a major, from all appearances - was arguing on the side of expediency: freed, the mutants could be moved more easily. The man named Trask, however, was arguing on the side of caution: the mutants had to remain contained or they would escape.

Beast, having been thoughtfully chipped out by the Marines moments before Trask arrived, was the only one of the mutants to hear the conversation. He was a bit uncomfortable with being taken into custody, as there was still a warrant out for his arrest. His arms and legs had been shackled, but he was fairly certain that he could have broken free if he wanted to, which he did not. As the only teacher there, the students had become his sole responsibility, and he was determined to do everything in his power to safeguard them. And so he sat on the sidewalk with his personal coterie of Marine guards and did absolutely nothing while the military swarmed over the area.

It was difficult to look placid and non-threatening when you had fangs and blue fur, but he thought he was doing an admirable job. "Difficult," though, swiftly became "impossible" when Trask and the major moved their argument slightly closer and Beast was able to make out everything they were saying.

"- telling you that these creatures cannot be trusted! Look around, you idiot - don't you see what they've already done!" Trask exclaimed, gesturing at the battered cityscape.

The major did look, and Beast looked too; he saw that the firefighters atop a nearby building had finally extinguished the ruined Sentinel, as well as the numerous small blazes its fiery demise had begun. He also saw the crush of media crews massing just outside the area cordoned off by the Marines.

This skirmish, if it could be trivialized as such, had not gone well at all. Beast wished that Professor Xavier was here, if only to lift the burden of responsibility from his own furry shoulders.

The major returned his attention to Trask, and gave the civilian a shrewd, narrow-eyed glare. "I see a lot of damage, yeah, and most of it was caused by that machine - _your_ machine. And even if you are military, I'm in charge of this operation and you're not my CO. So you can shove it, Trask." He turned to the sergeant standing at his shoulder and said, "Cut the others free and put them in restraints."

Trask grabbed the major's arm as the sergeant ran off to complete the order. "You're signing your own death certificate! These genetic aberrations don't care about taking human life!"

"Actually," Beast interrupted, his voice much calmer than he was, "we have no intention of fighting the military, in spite of what Mr. Trask claims."

"That's _Dr._ Trask, mutant scum," he snapped.

"That's _Dr._ McCoy, fascist," Hank growled in return, showing his canine teeth just enough to make Trask think twice about retorting. To the major, he said, "If you can assure us that we will not be handed over to this man -" he inclined his head in Trask's direction "- we will gladly come with you and face due process."

The major nodded. "Sounds like a deal to me. Lieutenant Holtz, Lieutenant Fullham, put Dr. McCoy with the rest. Corporal Wrightson, escort Dr. Trask out of the secured area."

"I don't need an 'escort'," Trask said, his face flushed dangerously red, and he turned and stalked off with four of his flunkies trailing in his wake.

"Have a nice day," the major called after him. "Idiot."

Beast, his two guards leading him towards a heavily armored truck, suppressed a grin.

The three students had been moved to the general vicinity of the truck and were being freed one at a time. Beast crouched outside the truck and made sure he greeted each of the students as they emerged, checking their vital signs as best he could and explaining the situation to them. As expected, they were all unhappy with the arrangement, but escape - with a hundred armed  
Marines and a dozen armed helicopters watching them - was not an option.

The truck was, unfortunately, parked near one of the barricades preventing the media and rubberneckers from encroaching, and as Beast waited in between students, he was subjected to far more attention than he wanted.

"Who are you?"

"Is your group from another planet?"

"Was this a terrorist attack against the United States?"

"What was that big robot?"

"Do you have any demands?"

"Are you the missing link?"

"What's with the blue underwear, Magilla?"

The last question was so outrageous he spun around to see who had asked it, and was surprised to see a dark-haired woman, not unattractive, practically falling over the barricade in order to get her microphone closer to him. Against his better judgement, he took a few mincing, shuffling steps toward her, his guards close behind. "I beg your pardon?"

"Hi, Trish Tilby, ZNN," she said, flashing a bright smile. "So is it a fashion statement, or the latest in terrorist wardrobes?"

Beast blinked, but pulled his thoughts together long enough to say, quite emphatically, "We are mutants, born with a genetic gift of special abilities. I can't speak for all mutants, but we are not and never have been terrorists."

Tilby pounced on that with a quick, "Then why the battle we saw today? Wasn't that a terrorist action?"

"We were defending ourselves against a robot that was trying to kill us," he said, ignoring the forest of microphones and cameras being thrust at him in favor of the ones held by the ZNN correspondent and her crew. "We deeply regret that innocent people were endangered, but it was literally a life or death situation."

"Why would a robot try to kill you? Did it have reason?"

Beast looked over his shoulder, where Blob was being cut free, and then turned back to Trish Tilby. "In my eyes, no, it did not have reason. We were unaware of its existence until it attacked us. And any questions about the robot and its actions should really be addressed to its creator, Dr. Trask, instead of myself. I believe he's over there," he finished, pointing in Trask's direction with a sense of gleeful revenge, and went to explain matters to Fred before the large teen tried something foolish.


	2. 2

The military had judged that the mutants were too dangerous to move without properly securing them, and it was taking a great deal of time for the people at the Stokes County Maximum Security Penitentiary to get their technology to the scene of the battle. The four mutants, each with their own duo of Marines guarding them (trio in Fred's case), were corralled outside the truck, sitting on the pavement. And as the military operation buzzed around them, there they remained for the next hour, still in restraints, still under guard, until the twilight began to deepen into night and Beast was convinced that they had been utterly abandoned there.

The students were starting to squirm, Rogue especially. Beast was getting pretty uncomfortable himself. They had fought a nasty battle today, and none of them had escaped without injury - and even though bruises and dented ribs were minor, they still hurt. And there were always complaints of a more normal manner.

"Ah, far be it from me to sound ungrateful," Beast said, twisting around to see Holtz and Fullham, "but will we have a chance to eat, or receive medical attention, or anything else?"

"Yeah," Fred said, perking up at the mention of food. His arms were shackled in front of him, simply because they wouldn't bend far enough behind his back. "When's dinner? And it better not be those MRwhatsits things."

The two lieutenants standing behind Beast exchanged a glance. "None of that is up to us," Fullham said.

Holtz shifted his rifle slightly in his arms. "Our orders are to hold you here. That's it."

"Splendid." Beast sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position on the asphalt.

Silence reigned for several more minutes, until Evan asked, "Hey, Beast, can they really hold us like this?"

Beast sighed again. "I'm not a lawyer, Spyke. I honestly don't know."

"Well, we _need_ a lawyer," Rogue said, giving her guards a dirty look. "Or a rescue. But I guess that ain't gonna happen."

"At this point, I think a rescue would do more harm than good," Beast said. He hoped the warning in his voice was not noticed by the guards - and if they did hear it, that they didn't take it the wrong way. "Enough damage to our cause has been done. We need to cooperate with the authorities now, to prove our trustworthiness, and our innocence."

"I hate Magneto," Rogue grumbled.

" 's not his fault," Blob said, almost absently. "Mystique's why you're here."

Beast frowned. "Mystique?"

Fred laughed, delighted in his victory. "Yeah, she fooled all you guys! She was pretendin' to be the professor. She got you to look for Magneto with your fancy Cerebro, and work with us."

Beast was literally rendered speechless. It seemed incredible, and yet, Professor Xavier _had_ been acting rather out of character lately...

"Oh, man -!" Evan exclaimed, horrified. "No way!"

Blob started laughing again. "Yes way!"

Rogue rolled her eyes and snapped, "And she left you behind, you big dummy."

That quieted Fred immediately. "Oh."

Beast glanced at the Marine guards. They were almost uniformly impassive, but he thought he detected a flicker of curiosity on Holtz' face.

So Mystique was looking for Magneto, and Magneto was... what? Laying a trap for them, rather obviously. Beast was now seeing that Wolverine's disappearance was indeed the work of Magneto, but not in the manner that they had first assumed. Magneto had led Logan into Trask's trap, just as he had led the X-Men and the Brotherhood into the Sentinel's abode. But for what purpose? The battle as a "coming-out" party had been a catastrophe; anti-mutant hysteria was already looming. Unless... It had not ended as planned. But what could have disrupted the best-laid plans of the master of magnetism?

"Scarlet Witch," he said, thinking out loud. It was a bad habit, and he winced as soon as the name had left his mouth: the flicker of curiosity on Holtz' face returned in force. At least he hadn't said "Wanda Maximoff."

The three teens looked at each other, and then back at Beast. Evan asked, "What about her?"

Beast shook his head. "We'll talk later."

A noise overhead caught his attention, and he looked upwards to see a helicopter descending. The wind from the blades started slinging dust and bits of broken concrete their way; with their hands cuffed, they couldn't shield their eyes. Beast squinted, but did not avert his face. He wanted to see what was going on. He had a feeling it wasn't good.

The helicopter - it had no doors, so it was military - landed a dozen yards away. Two figures quickly disembarked and hurried away from the aircraft. They were met by the same major who had so diplomatically confronted Trask earlier.

"Ma'am, sir, the prisoners are right over here," the major yelled over the noise of the blades, and started leading the two newcomers toward the truck. The trio stopped in front of him just as the helicopter lifted off again; Holtz and Fullham, along with the other guards, snapped to attention.

"Dr. McCoy, I presume," the unknown man said. Beast could see the glint of gold aviators' wings on his chest, and a commander's insignia; he was wearing white and was clearly Navy. The woman, who was wearing Marine khakis and a colonel's silver oak leaves, stayed slightly behind him. "I'm Commander Rabb, and this is Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie."


	3. 3

"You'll forgive me if I don't shake hands," Beast answered, trying not to sound overly bitter.

Fortunately, Commander Rabb seemed to take it as a joke and chuckled. "We're from the Navy's Judge Advocate General office. We're investigating the, ah, 'Sentinel' incident, and right now it looks like you're our first interview."

"I should hope so, considering the others are minors," Beast said.

"Minors?" Colonel MacKenzie asked sharply.

Beast nodded and elaborated with, "None of them are over seventeen."

She exchanged a glance with Rabb and said, "I'll take care of it." He nodded and turned back to Beast as MacKenzie pulled the major some distance away and started engaging him in a rather heated discussion.

To Beast, Rabb said, "I've been told by Major Denison" - he gestured towards the major arguing with MacKenzie - "that you're not to be moved, so we'll be talking here."

"You might want to get a chair," Beast suggested. "The asphalt becomes uncomfortable after the first two hours."

Rabb smiled again, but this time it looked more forced. "I'm sure that's true."

One of Evan's guards unobtrusively brought over a metal folding chair, and Rabb settled into it. From his briefcase, he brought out a standard pad of yellow legal paper and a pen, as well as a manila file folder. "First things first. Your name, date of birth, and occupation."

Beast told him the first two items - it wasn't anything he didn't know or couldn't find out anyway - but hesitated on the last one. What was it that he did, precisely? Teacher, of course, but of what? Chemistry? Physical education (the Danger Room surely qualified as that!)? The fine art of hanging from the ceiling by your feet? He finally went with, "Former public high school teacher."

"Which brings me to the next thing," Rabb said, opening the file folder. "You have two outstanding warrants on your head, Dr. McCoy. Assault and battery, and destruction of county and state property. You're also wanted for questioning in regards to an incident at your former place of employment... something about monsters?"

Beast chuckled. "Not monsters. Creatures from a parallel dimension."

Rabb raised his eyebrows. "Right. What I want to know is: do the prior charges against you have any bearing on your presence here today?"

"How so?" Beast asked, shifting in his restraints. "If you mean, would I still be here without them - I would like to say that yes, I would, because the people I'm with are doing good and necessary work."

"What I meant, doctor," Rabb said with an intense look, "was, are you in any way involved with a paramilitary, terrorist, or otherwise underground organization that might be behind the attack?"

"Jerk," Rogue said, quite distinctly, and Rabb broke off his staring contest with Beast to frown at her. She pretended not to notice.

"My apologies," Beast said to Rabb. "Children today have such poor manners. You were saying?"

Rabb leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "Let's start over. What happened here, Doc?"

"The Sentinel robot attacked us. We defended ourselves to the best of our abilities, and we succeeded in destroying the machine - although, unfortunately, not before the area was damaged and innocent lives were endangered."

" 'We'?" Rabb asked, pouncing on the phrase.

Beast nodded at the three students. "We."

"I guess asking who you are isn't going to get me anywhere," Rabb said, and Beast merely smiled. The officer sighed. "Fine, then. Eyewitness accounts say there were at least eight of you. Where'd the others go?"

"Home, I expect," Beast said smoothly, which of course told Commander Rabb precisely nothing.

Rabb gave him a thoroughly disgruntled glare, then broke into a laugh and shook his head. "I set myself up for that one, I guess. Okay. Are you going to tell me anything further, or are we just going to sit here and be unproductive for another few hours?"

Beast grinned. "Oh, the latter, definitely."

Rabb shook his head again, still amused. He flipped the folder shut and picked up his briefcase, standing. "In that case, Dr. McCoy, I'll let the Marines move you to your new home-away-from-home and start this interview over in the morning."

Before Beast could ask about their impending accomodations, MacKenzie returned looking satisfied. "The kids won't be restrained further," she told Rabb, "and there's food on the way."

Fred cheered.


	4. 4

Several hours and an uncomfortable, jolting ride in the back of a personnel carrier later, Beast awoke from a fitful sleep and discovered, to his great dismay, that the previous day had not been a dream. He was still restrained in the shackles he'd first been fitted with, as the Stokes people had discovered that they did not, in fact, have any equipment to spare. Some of their "paranormal" prisoners had attempted an escape the night before and were now being confined. Beast had learned this happy news by eavesdropping on Major Denison's second conversation with the infuriated Dr. Trask as the children were being herded onto the truck. He had to give Denison credit; the man was fearless in the face of certain danger.

The two lawyers had remained on the scene, apparently interviewing the entire population of the tri-state area. Beast did not envy them.

Now, he shuffled into the dawn sunlight and stifled a yawn, lest his guards think he was threatening them. Their new surroundings, he noticed immediately, were vastly different from the urban jungle they'd departed from. This facility - a nondescript warehouse with soldiers already swarming around - looked like part of a military base. But where? He looked skyward, saw a commercial airplane flying overhead, and mentally crossed off the countryside. The plane was descending too sharply; there must be an airport nearby. And, judging from the size of the plane, which looked like a 747 equipped for transatlantic flight, the airport was a large one.

He pondered over their likely whereabouts while the children were unloaded one-by-one. They were all blinking and yawning, and Fred, never the most coordinated youth, stumbled as his feet hit the ground. As it became painfully obvious that he was going to fall, his guards jumped back, no doubt alarmed by the thought of being buried beneath him. Beast took a step towards him to help, but he was beaten to it by Rogue and Evan, who threw their shoulders against Fred's big form and kept him from overbalancing completely.

"Hey, thanks," Fred said, sounding genuinely surprised and grateful.

Rogue nodded, solemn. "I know we ain't the best of friends, but we're a team now, okay?"

"Yeah, man," Evan said, also nodding. "You know, we have to stick together and stuff."

Fred blinked, processing that, and then nodded vigorously. "Yeah. A team."

Beast was pleased to see the display of solidarity between his charges, and remembered hearing that Fred had been considered for the Institute once. Things had not worked out, of course, but he clung to the hope that the boy - and indeed, all of the Brotherhood's members - could be persuaded to change sides.

But that was a matter for another occasion.

"Right. Well, team," Beast called to them, "let's not delay these soldiers any further."

The three teenagers obeyed, and a few minutes of shuffling found them inside the warehouse, which had been hastily outfitted as a holding area. The center of the floor was occupied by four box-shaped cells, arranged in a square and made of what looked like glass. There were wires and equipment trailing from each one to the walls of the warehouse, which made Beast not a little suspicious. The floors of the cells were solid metal at least two inches thick, as were the roofs.

He had the cell closest to the door they'd entered through. As soon the cell's door was shut behind him, a low electrical humming sound began. Beast eyed the glass warily; there was a row of circles around the upper border. Ventilation. He felt, rather uncomfortably, like a big blue hamster.

On the other side, Holtz said, "Don't touch the walls."

Beast looked up, more surprised by the man's tone than by the words. He sounded almost... sympathetic. "Are they electrified?"

"Something like that," Holtz said, shrugging in either nervousness or ignorance. "Just don't touch them. And tell the kids not to. I don't know if they'll listen to me."

"I will," Beast said, coming to stand as close to the glass as he dared. "Can I ask why you're telling me this?"

Holtz glanced around and said, low and discreet, "My niece is a mutant, about their age." He jerked his head in the direction of the students. "Sweetest little girl in the world."

And clearly he did not want anything unfortunate to happen to her, and he was projecting that onto the students. Beast was heartened by the discovery of a potential ally. "I understand. If all goes well, I could introduce you to some people who could counsel her."

Holtz nodded, although he looked dubious. Rightly so; for all he knew, the mutant offering to help his niece was a terrorist.

The last cell door clicked shut and the swarm of guards began to disperse, among them Holtz and Fullham. Shift change, Beast surmised.

Major Denison reappeared, looking slightly haggard, and stepped up to the glass of Beast's cell. "Dr. McCoy. Before I turn custody of you all over to the base, is everything going well?"

"As well as it can, sir," Beast said, flashing a rueful smile. "I am wondering, however, about breakfast and an opportunity to bathe or shower."

Denison rubbed his eyes. "Breakfast is being brought over as we speak. The other thing is going to be a problem."

"Not an insurmountable one, I hope."

The major rubbed his eyes again. "This building has no such facilities, and we can't move you elsewhere because it's a risk to base security. So either you do without, which I know isn't a very appealing idea, or I can try to get a couple of guys out here to jury-rig something, which could take a while."

"We vote for the second option," Evan called out, and Beast turned to see the three students paying rapt attention to the conversation.

"I'm going to agree with them," Beast said, returning to Denison.

"Can't blame you," Denison said, an amused expression tugging at his face. "In that case, I'll start the ball rolling. Have a nice day, Doctor."

"You too, Major," Beast called after him. He watched Denison leave and the Marines on guard shut and lock the big doors, sealing the mutants inside twice over.

Beast sighed and then remembered he was supposed to tell the students something. "Rogue, Spyke, Blob -?"

"What?" they answered, more or less in unison.

"Don't touch the glass."


	5. 5

As far as windows went, the warehouse had only a single narrow row strung high across the two longer walls. Beast tracked the sun's progress by the pattern of light cast on the floor - partly because he wanted to keep track of time, and partly because he was utterly bored.

The students - Beast had started thinking of Blob as one of them - fared less well. Evan and Fred got fairly deep into a game of "I Spy" before they ran out of colors, objects, and imagination, at which point Evan, always a kinesthetic child, started pacing around his cell restlessly. Rogue occupied her time by chipping the dark purple polish off of her fingernails and sighing every time the boys started a new round of guesses.

The high points of the day, Beast concluded as the last reddish rays of sunlight vanished from the  
cement floor, had been the serving of meals and the construction of the very rudimentary bathroom. Also of note was the return of Holtz, their potential ally, to the guard crew.

"Where is everybody?" Evan asked suddenly, sitting down on the floor of his cell in an evident pout.

Rogue looked up from her fingernails. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Everybody." He gestured at the warehouse at large. "I mean, we've been here all day and no one's, you know, shown up."

"To bust us out," Rogue concluded. Evan immediately shushed her, and she waved him off with an exasperated sigh. "Sayin' it and doin' it are two different things, Spyke. Besides, no one's gonna come. They got their own problems."

Fred nodded absently, staring at the floor of his own cell. "We're gonna be here forever, aren't we?"

"Of course not," Beast said, jumping into the conversation now that it was clear that adult morale-boosting was needed. "We've done nothing wrong, and we do still have rights."

Left unspoken was, "And we can break out if we need to," but he was fairly sure the students understood that. The cells, electrified or not, could not contain Fred if the teenager was so inclined to smash through them. He was hoping that Fred hadn't realized that yet, lest he attempt an escape prematurely.

"Like the courts are gonna give us a fair trial," Evan said, standing up again and kicking at the floor. "We're mutants."

"Like the military is gonna let us have a fair trial," Rogue corrected, also standing. In a lower voice, she said, "Remember what happened to Wolverine?"

Evan's eyes widened. "Dude. You're right!"

Fred's face wrinkled in confusion. "What happened to who?"

Again, Beast stepped in. "That was the Canadian government, not ours, and it was nearly fifty years ago. Apparently," he amended. No one was quite sure when any of Wolverine's memories had occured.

"Face it: we're dead," Rogue said flatly, glaring out at the soldiers. "The Army is never gonna let us out of these stupid cages."

"You're being held by the Marines, actually," a new voice rang out in the warehouse, and Beast turned to see the doors standing open, letting in a flood of sunset light and two familar lawyers. The one who'd spoken was Colonel MacKenzie, and she added, "There's a very big difference, trust me."

Commander Rabb said, "Dr. McCoy. How's everything?"

Beast stepped forward as far as the glass allowed. "Tedious," he answered truthfully. "And as you heard, a little anxiety-causing for the children."

"Sorry for that," Rabb answered. Both he and MacKenzie looked relatively fresh, especially when compared to the weary Major Denison that morning. "We need to ask you some more questions."

Beast sighed and nodded.

Rabb got out a yellow legal pad and a pen while MacKenzie stood behind him. "First off, do you know anything about the modified SR-71 Blackbird parked by those abandoned warehouses?"

"A Blackbird?" Beast repeated, keeping his face blank. "They're supersonic aircraft used by the Air Force and NASA, aren't they? How would a private enterprise get ahold of one?"

It wasn't a total lie; he didn't actually know how Xavier had acquired the jet. They were all strictly accounted for by the Air Force, including the ones loaned out to NASA, and obtaining the blueprints would be impossible - although not for the world's most powerful telepath.

Rabb looked like he didn't buy the act for a second, but he shook his head and moved on. "In an interview with a ZNN correspondent-"

"Trish Tilby," Beast cut in, correcting although he wasn't sure why that seemed so important.

"Right. You said that you were 'mutants, born with genetic gifts'. Clarify that."

"How?" Beast asked, stalling as best he could.

MacKenzie said, "What kind of genetic gifts? What gene?"

"It's a cluster of genes," Beast said, chosing to start with the most general information, "and which genes those are vary from one individual to the next. Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

Rabb gave him a calculating look, then said, "A few scientists. No one knows much."

"Dr. Moira MacTaggert?" Beast asked, grasping at a known - albeit distant - ally and close friend of Professor Xavier.

Rabb quickly flipped through the legal pad. "No."

"She's a geneticist in Scotland," Beast said. "She specializes in mutations. I suggest you give her a call."

"We'll do that," MacKenzie said as Rabb wrote the name down. "You still haven't answered the first part - what kind of gifts?"

Beast hesitated for a moment. He was going to have to tell them something, clearly, just as he had before, but again, the level of detail he went into... "Well, there are physical mutations, like mine. And there are mutations that allow for energy manipulation in exotic ways, and there are mutations that are mind-based."

MacKenzie didn't move, or change her expression, but Beast had the strong sense that she was not a little uneasy to hear that.

"Mind-based?" Rabb asked.

"Telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance..." He shrugged, all the while keeping a curious eye on MacKenzie. "The standard sci-fi New-Age stuff."

Rabb also glanced at her before turning back to Beast. "When do these mutations manifest?"

"Puberty, usually, although I was able to supress mine until earlier this year," he answered.  
MacKenzie's demeanor dimmed slightly further at the news. Interesting.

Rabb asked him several more questions - precise, hair-splitting questions about the timing of events that made Beast scratch his head and even ask the students for input. He was a bit surprised to see just how comprehensive a picture the lawyers had been able to assemble in slightly less than twenty-four hours. The interviewing had paid off, obviously, but he did wonder when they'd found the time to sleep.

Finally, well after the sun had faded and sodium lights had hummed to life outside, Rabb and MacKenzie finished collecting their information.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" Rabb asked, stowing the notes in his briefcase.

"Yeah, could we have a TV or something?" Fred put in, startling everyone. Somewhat defensive, he added, "What? It's boring here."

Unexpectedly, both Rabb and MacKenzie smiled. "We'll see," she said.

Beast cleared his throat and said, "The only thing I have to add is that we do not deserve to be here. We are not criminals, and we are not terrorists."

Rabb nodded fractionally and turned away from the cells, walking out with MacKenzie. Shreds of a murmured conversation drifted back to Beast, and for once he appreciated the heightened sense of hearing given to him by his mutated form. Still, he missed half of what they said.

"... have to."

"... started the investigation, Harm!"

"I know ... not the enemy..."

"...dangerous for..."

"... legal rights, Mac."

Beast watched them with great curiosity until they'd exited the building. There were several new questions to mull over - questions, he admitted to himself, that distracted him from the troubling information Fred had given them yesterday regarding the professor - not the least the which was the puzzle of Colonel MacKenzie's reaction.

Telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance.

Beast settled in for the night, wondering which one had upset her the most.


	6. 6

The afternoon of their second day in captivity was enlivened by the arrival of a large television set - courtesy, Beast gathered, of the lawyers. It was so enlivened, in fact, that the three students began to argue over who got to pick what they watched first, in such loud voices and with such fiery words that the guards became agitated themselves. Seeing fifty-odd soldiers simutaneously raise their rifles made quite an impression on the one mutant who wasn't squabbling over TV channels.

Beast had to yell before any of the teenagers heard him. When they finally did, they stopped arguing and eyed him mutinously. He chose to ignore that and told them, "If you can't behave like civilized people and calmly resolve this matter, then I will take control of the television and we'll watch educational science programs for all eternity. Understood?"

Making disgusted faces at the thought, the students nodded and grumbled their assent.

Satisfied, Beast said, "Now. We're a team, correct?"

"Yeah," Evan ventured.

"Good. Then designate a leader - a second-in-command, since our usual one isn't here," Beast said, unwilling to say Cyclops' name out loud. The less the military knew about the X-Men as a whole, the better.

The students looked surprised at the idea, but appeared to mull it over for a few minutes. Then Evan said, "I don't want to be leader. Too much responsibility."

"Me neither," Fred said, shaking his head. "You should do it, Rogue."

"Me?" she said, visibly incredulous, putting a hand to her chest. "I ain't leader material any more than you guys!"

"I vote for Rogue too," Evan said quickly. "That's two out of three - majority wins."

"Rogue it is," Beast said, supressing a grin. It was actually a good choice, and the most reasonable; Rogue was smart, not frivolous or inclined to panic, and she had fought alongside Blob during her stint with the Brotherhood. She'd also fought alongside Spyke, so she was familiar with everyone's strengths and weaknesses in case they had to make an escape attempt after all. And there were trust issues involved - for Fred, at least - that her status as leader would effectively negate. "Very well, Rogue, pick a channel that all of you will enjoy."

"Um..." She floundered for a moment, but came up with, "How about, I dunno, the news?"

"Yeah, maybe the others are on it," Evan said, showing an unusual enthusiasm for something he'd never looked at twice before.

But as it turned out, the top story on ZNN was them. Or, more accurately, the students, as Beast was old news.

"- has been tentatively identified as Fredrick Dukes, who performed at truck rallys and state fairs across the midwest before his abrupt departure from the circuit several months ago -"

"Hey, that's me!" Fred exclaimed, pointing at the television. Beast didn't have the best angle from his cell, so despite his efforts to view the screen, he couldn't see the images.

"- here in file footage -"

"Whoa, dude, that's pretty cool," Evan said over the noise of tires squealing and engines revving.

"Yeah, it was cool," Fred said, somewhat wistful. " 'Cept when people started makin' fun of me. That sucked. And it's great hangin' out with the Brotherhood now and fightin' you guys and stuff. But I dunno. I kinda miss it sometimes."

It was, Beast thought, the most he'd ever heard the boy say at one time, and it was probably the most insight into his motives that anyone was likely to get. Meanwhile, the newscaster was moving on.

"- remains unknown, but police in Caldecott County, Mississippi, say that she matches the description of a girl wanted for assaulting a local high-school football star. They are also unsure of her identity -"

"Oh, fantastic," Rogue said, covering her face with her hands. "Talk about the past comin' back..."

"The identity of the second boy was confirmed by New York City authorities, but is being withheld by an emergency court order filed late yesterday by his parents," the reporter finished.

Evan whistled. "Go Mom and Dad!"

Beast frowned. With two of their names out in the public domain, were the others' far behind? If they'd exposed the Institute to the world, they were in trouble. Not with the professor, wherever he might be - assuming Fred was accurate - but they were certainly in trouble.

"And coming up - at six o'clock, our junior correspondent Trish Tilby reports live from the military base where the captured mutants are being held -"

Trish Tilby? Interesting. Beast wondered what kind of information they could glean from this broadcast. Perhaps their location. Perhaps some clue as to their length of stay. Perhaps the news crew would even broadcast from inside their building, and he could get the answers firsthand.

"- first, an update on the mutants who escaped at the end of the dramatic battle."

Evidently more file footage rolled, because the warehouse echoed with the sudden, tinny sounds  
of a recorded firefight.

"Barely five minutes after this exclusive footage was first broadcast, our affliate station in New York City was flooded with calls identifying several of the mutants. Shown here are Jean Grey, Todd Tolansky, and Katherine Pryde, all students attending Bayville High School in Bayville, New York -"

"Okay, this now officially sucks," Evan announced.

Beast agreed with him, although he was inclined to use stronger language.

"- hotly denied any knowledge of mutants on the campus, although several incidents that have occured in the last few months are now being reviewed with increased scrutiny and an eye toward mutant activity -"

"We are so busted," Rogue said, burying her face in her hands again.

Evan nodded. "We've gotta get masks or something."

"- seen here, briefly, has been nonetheless been conclusively identified as an escapee from a pyschiatric facility in upstate New York. The girl, whose name is being withheld from the media for reasons of confidentiality, recently vanished without a trace during a therapy session."

"It's Scarlet Witch," Rogue said, sitting up straighter. She made a derisive noise. "I coulda guessed she escaped from some kinda crazy farm."

"You're tellin' me," Fred said. "I remember when Mystique brought her home - man, she tore the place apart. It was bad enough seein' Mystique again..."

Two and two suddenly clicked together in Beast's mind, equaling a most startling four. The professor had seen Wanda for therapy. Mystique had impersonated Xavier. "Fred," he started, trying to keep his voice level, "Mystique returned with Scarlet Witch?"

"Yeah. She showed up, yelled at us, then Wa- uh, Scarlet Witch came in and started goin' nuts."

"When did Mystique start impersonating the professor?"

Fred scratched his ear. "Uh... I think it was the same night."

Caught up in the blinding force of the revelation, Beast nearly forgot to breathe. "Good Lord," he finally said, gasping it out, "the professor must still be at the asylum!"

Three voices said at once, "What?"

"Mystique broke Scarlet Witch out during a therapy session. But the professor was the only one who saw her for therapy," he explained in a rush. "Mystique also began impersonating the professor that same night, which means the professor did not return from the asylum."

"So he's still there!" Evan said.

Rogue suddenly hit the floor of her cell with one fist. "GOD! I hate her! She messes with everyone!"

"Calm down, Rogue," Beast said, as the guards made reflexive motions with their guns again. She did calm down, cradling her hand and looking sullen. She was very good at the latter, he'd noticed.

"So you know where he is, right?" Evan asked Beast. "I mean, where the asylum is?"

"I believe so," he answered.

Rogue, rubbing her hand, said, "Yeah, but even if we know where he is, how are we gonna get to him?"

"As to that," Beast said glumly, "I have no idea."


	7. 7

The news crew arrived at precisely three o'clock. Beast knew this because the cartoon the students were watching had just begun, and because Trish Tilby swept into the warehouse with a full complement of cameramen. The soldiers on guard stopped the cameras and the people holding them, but Tilby flashed a press badge of some kind and was waved on.

She immediately strolled over to the cells and stopped in front of Beast's.

"Hello again," she said brightly, flashing him an even brighter smile. "I hate to tell you this, but you look more like a gorilla than ever. I think it's the cage."

Beast tried to be offended and found that he couldn't. "Nice to see you too, Ms. Tilby."

She made a dismissive gesture. "Trish, please. If you call me 'Ms. Tilby' we won't sound like such good friends. And we are good friends, aren't we?"

"Based on a five-second conversation?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"It was... an instant connection," she responded, winking. "Anyway, Hank - do you mind if I call you Hank? - it would mean a great deal to me and my career if I could get another interview."

Aha. He was the path to stardom for ZNN's junior correspondent. It was rather refreshing, he supposed, to be viewed as a meal ticket and not as a freak. "I'm not sure what more there is to tell you," he said.

"Oh, I know I can think of something," she said with a broad smile.

Commander Rabb's voice said loudly, "I'm sorry, Ms. Tilby, but Dr. McCoy will not be talking to anyone."

Beast looked toward the door and saw the two lawyers brushing past both the guards and the news crew.

Trish turned around and the smile, while never faltering and even growing slightly, turned into something distinctly predatory. "Hey, Rabb and MacKenzie. The Dynamic Duo themselves! Kudos on the Dunston court-martial, you two - it's just a pity he didn't do that twelve months of hard labor, huh?"

Rabb looked slightly taken aback, but recovered instantly and said, "Internal conflict at ZNN? I wasn't aware that you people preyed on each other."

"We're like sharks," Trish said, and her smile did wonders to further the simile. "We eat our weak and infirm."

"I'm sure you do," MacKenzie said. She didn't have a nice smile either, at the moment. Beast wasn't sure if he wanted to be the same room with these people, who were so expertly radiating ruthlessness at each other. And mutants were considered a threat? "We have to ask you to leave now, Ms. Tilby."

"Well, when you put it so graciously..." Trish smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt and gave Beast a little wave. "I'll see you later, Hank."

"Don't bet on it," Rabb told her as she walked out, taking her crew with her. He switched off the TV, eliciting groans and grumbles from the students, and turned to face Beast.

"More questions?" Beast asked.

"No, we're done with the investigation."

"That quickly?" Beast asked, his eyebrows rising despite himself. A couple of days didn't seem like nearly enough time to complete an investigation as big as this one surely was.

MacKenzie shook her head. "It's still ongoing, but we've removed ourselves from it."

Beast looked from one lawyer to the next, slightly puzzled. "Then why...?"

"There's good news," Rabb said, "and there's a lot of bad news. The good news is that you'll be tried in civilian court, in Virginia, and we're both able to practice law there."

"The bad news is that federal charges are being drawn up as we speak," MacKenzie said. "The Attorney General is moving fast on this one, which doesn't give us much time to prepare a defense."

"Also, right now it looks like you'll have to remain here for the length of the trial. That's not too much of an obstacle, but I'm sure you were looking forward to getting out of here."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Rogue said, holding up her hands in clear disbelief. "Y'all are gonna defend us."

"We are," MacKenzie said.

"For free?" That from Evan. It was a good question.

Rabb and MacKenzie gave identical half-smiles. "We're approaching this as a pro bono case, yes," Rabb said.

Rogue glared at them for a second longer before declaring, "It's a trap."

"It is not a trap," Rabb said, sounding like he was trying to be patient and failing. "You're citizens of the United States, you're entitled to legal representation, the government is gunning for you to be scapegoats, and believe me you do not want the court-appointed public defender being offered up. The guy hasn't won a case in two years."

Beast considered the point, and found it to hold a certain amount of sense. Rogue, however, had made her judgement and was now muttering dark things against the military-industrial complex.

"We've defended tough cases before," MacKenzie said. "This is ugly, but it's not the worst. There's a solid amount of evidence in your favor - what we have to do is convince the jury that you're not threats now and you never will be."

"And you're willing to do this," Beast said. "For free."

Rabb nodded, a deliberate, solemn movement. "To the best of our abilities."

"Why?"

"Because I think you're telling the truth," Rabb said.

"You can't handle the truth," Beast said, more to test the man's sense of humor than anything else.

Rabb cracked a grin. "Only time will tell."

Thus satisfied, Beast turned to face the other lawyer. "Why are you doing this?"

MacKenzie met his gaze calmly. "Because I've seen things. Because I found two people when they were missing by having visions, and I solved a murder through a dream."

"You're psychic," Beast said, not entirely surprised to learn that he'd been right to suspect as much, but very surprised to hear her admit it. "A clairvoyant?"

She inclined her head slightly. "And I agree with Commander Rabb. I think you're telling the truth."

He passed up the chance to make a bad psychic joke - he'd reached his quota, he suspected, with the _A Few Good Men_ line - and said, "Believe me, the support is appreciated, but I'm not sure about..."

Rabb finished the sentence for him. "About our objectivity?"

With a nod in Rogue's direction, Beast said, "Well, you are in the military."

"True," Rabb allowed, "and we're catching a lot of flack from our superiors for the stance we're taking."

"Dr. McCoy, if you don't want us to be your lawyers, that's your decision," MacKenzie said, an intense look on her face. "But I think you need to consider it strongly."

"Well..." He turned around to see the students. "What do you think?"

"Trap," Rogue said, pushing a strand of white hair away from her face.

Evan scratched his head. "Man, I don't know. Pass."

All eyes moved to Fred, who was squinting at the lawyers with an expression of deep thought - as deep as it could get, Beast thought, and immediately chastised himself for the unkind observation. After a long, pregnant moment, Fred asked, "So what happens if you defend us and lose?"

"It depends on what the judge thinks," Rabb said. "There are multiple charges against each of you, and each charge, if there's a guilty verdict, could carry different penalties. You could be in prison for life, or five years, or not at all."

Fred absorbed that information for a moment. "And the guy the court is givin' us sucks?"

The lawyers smiled. MacKenzie said, "In so many words, yes."

"Well, I don't wanna go to prison," Fred told them, with just enough warning in his voice to make some of the guards twitch. "So I guess you guys are it."

"One for, one against, and one undecided," Beast said, not unhappy that the deciding vote had fallen to him, but not overjoyed about it either. He looked back to the lawyers. "I'm placing my trust in you -"

Rogue made a disgusted noise and shook her head.

"- and I hope that you do not let myself or the children down."

"We'll do our best not to." Rabb gestured at the glass. "I'd shake hands, but that doesn't seem to be an option. For the moment."

And then they got down to business, spreading out their papers on a rickety table brought in by the guards. The lawyers wanted to know everything that had happened, this time not with an eye toward timetables, but to proving that the mutants were innocent. Beast and the students provided as thorough an account as possible, although Rogue was noticibly reluctant. Then they moved on to background information on all four mutants. After nearly three hours, the lawyers had hammered out a very basic sketch of their defense strategy, and their confidence in the case had spread to the mutants. They also decided to call it a day.

"We'll return tomorrow morning," MacKenzie said, shutting her briefcase. "By that time, we should have a lot of the blanks filled in."

Rabb said, "We've got a friend who'll do some checking into the Sentinel side of things. If Trask is working for the military, even black ops, we'll find out."

"Thank you," Beast said, watching them gather up the last of their things. "Say thank you, children."

Evan and Fred gave two fairly credible bits of gratitude. Rogue mumbled something that Beast heard clearly, but that didn't bear repeating.

The lawyers nodded and walked out, already discussing something before they'd even reached the door.

Beast waited for a moment or two before clearing his throat. "Ah, Lieutenant Holtz?"

Holtz looked up, startled and not a little suspicious.

"Has the news crew left yet?"

Still suspicious, Holtz said, "No, they're still here."

"Could you please tell Ms. Tilby that I'd like to speak with her?"

Holtz frowned, but nodded, and muttered something to that effect into his walkie-talkie. A burst of nearly unintelligeble speech came back, and Holtz said to Beast, "She'll be right in."

"Thank you," Beast said, pleased with this demonstration of goodwill.

And indeed, Trish entered a short time later - _sans_ film crew, he was glad to see. "And here I was starting to think that I'd never get to see you again," she said, coming to a stop in front of his cell. "Got something newsworthy to say?"

"Perhaps," Beast allowed, "but first I have a few questions."

Trish raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Let's hear it."

"What do you know about Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie?"

"Well... he's made the news more times than one person can keep track of, and she's not far behind. Let's see... they just finished prosecuting the first military tribunal since forever... and they successfully defended the guy who stole the Declaration of Independence a few years ago. Not a bad trick. Rabb especially, I'm told, has a reputation as a crusader - very 'truth, justice, and the American way.' He used to be a fighter pilot... has two Distinguished Flying Crosses, which is unheard of." She paused, a gleam coming into her eyes. "Why? Did they just appoint themselves as your attorneys?"

"Yes," Beast said, and had the privilege of seeing a composed newswoman whoop, clap her hands, and spin around in pure joy. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm ecstatic," she said, grinning hugely. "Hank, if I could get past that glass, I'd kiss you. Keep giving me scoops like that and I'll have Stuart Dunston's job in no time!"

"Dunston?" he asked, the better to focus his attention on the important matters and not on the fact that a fairly attractive woman had just told him that she wanted to kiss him.

Trish, eyes still gleaming, said, "He's the senior war correspondent at ZNN. I got into this business to do what he does."

"Ah," Beast said.

Trish smoothed her hair and collected herself. "Well. This changes everything, Hank. If Rabb and MacKenzie think you're innocent, then ZNN is going to want to follow suit before we come out looking like idiots. I'm not saying you are innocent, of course," she added hastily, "but I'll see if we can't slant it that way."

It took him a second to process that, and then the only thing he could think of to say was, "Thank you."

"Oh, it's going to cost you," she said, winking at him again. "I want first dibs on any future scoops from you people."

"I don't see a problem with that," he said.

"I'm happy to hear it."

She took a step in the direction of the door, and he hastily added, "One more thing, though."

Trish paused and turned back to him. "Shoot."

"Has Colonel MacKenzie been involved with a murder investigation recently?"

She thought for moment, then snapped her fingers. "Yes. It was a military thing, but it turned out to have ties to the Russians and nuclear-weapons smuggling, so I poked around a bit in my spare time after it was over. Some woman was killed at night, no clues, but MacKenzie solved it within a few days. The buzz I heard from the police detective on the case was that she'd had a dream or something, but I'm pretty sure he was joking. A semper-fi, do-or-die, dedicated jarhead like that had her intuition driven out years ago."

Beast controlled his reaction carefully. Trish seemed to discount the information hinting at MacKenzie's clairvoyance, and he had no problem discouraging her from further inquiry. Now that he was fairly sure one of his lawyers was a mutant, he didn't want the authorities swooping down on that as well. "Oh. Thanks anyway."

"Mm-hm. I look forward to seeing you up close and personal again." She blew him a kiss over her shoulder on her way out. "Later, Hank."

Beast blinked. Several times.

"Dude," Evan said after a long moment. "Was she just-"

Beast coughed loudly, drowning out the rest of the question - which he knew for an utter certainty would be embarrassing - and said, "Isn't there something on TV?"

* * *

Note: Mac's psychic moments occurred in "Psychic Warrior," "Adrift Part 2," and "Capital Crime." In the first one, she found her "little sister" Chloe; in the second, she found Harm; and in the third, she solved the murder of Commander Aiken. Only the "Adrift" incident could be called a true vision, as the others were dreams. Also - being a shipper - I'd like to point out that  
the only time she's consciously tried to use her ability was when Harm was lost at sea.

For whoever asked (I forget already): Clairvoyance is also called "remote viewing." It's different from telepathy because you're not reading someone's mind; you're just seeing stuff (although you can see things through someone else's eyes). JAG has never called Mac a clairvoyant, but she's not telepathic, and I refuse to label her with a generic "pyschic." So there ya go.


	8. 8

Note: I am not a lawyer. Nor do I know anyone who is (although I do know a former magistrate, but that's not the same thing). Therefore, every single bit of legal stuff in this fic is based entirely on my vast experience with TV law, as depicted in _Matlock_ and _JAG_. Matlock is cool. :)

* * *

Three days later, there was still no sign of the X-Men who had escaped from the Sentinel, although the news continued to rave about them _in absentia_. Trask was mounting an impressive anti-mutant campaign, which was only slightly tempered by ZNN's more impartial coverage; Trish, who was now the network's darling, was keeping her word and slanting her reports as far in their favor as she could. Beast's opinion of her went up several notches.

No mention was made of the giant underground facility where Trask had built the Sentinel. Either the media wasn't exploiting the news - unlikely, judging from the ferocious attitude he'd seen displayed by Trish - or Trask was keeping his mouth shut. Much more likely.

Rabb and MacKenzie were playing to the media, too, giving enough soundbites to fill a battleship and just generally using their reputation to buoy the mutants' case. One newschannel devoted an entire day to the careers of the two military lawyers. Aside from what Trish had told him, Beast learned that Rabb and MacKenzie had been reported shot down over Russia while flying a (alledgedly stolen) MiG fighter jet, and Rabb had snuck into Vietnam as a teenager to search for his MIA father. He learned that MacKenzie had prosecuted the Navy's first televised court-martial and won (from archival coverage of that, he also learned that she looked good in a bikini).

All in all, by the time the commander and the colonel showed up for their fourth official lawyer-client meeting with Beast and the children, he was very happy with his choice of attorneys. The complementary pair of glasses they'd brought him on the second visit didn't hurt his feelings either.

"We met with the judge and the prosecutorial team today," Rabb announced as he and MacKenzie settled in. "And we scored a major win already."

"What?" Beast asked, looking from one lawyer to the next. They both were radiating a sense of secret knowledge, and his intense natural curiosity made him doubly anxious to know what they had done.

"The kids will not be charged or brought to trial," Rabb said, grinning triumphantly.

Equally triumphant, MacKenzie added, "And they'll be excluded from your trial proceedings. No names, no testimony, nothing."

Beast applauded. He was truly delighted to hear it. "Well done! But how?"

"It took a lot of arguing," Rabb said, a flicker of weary expression betraying just how much. "And there is a catch."

"Basically, the judge wanted to be assured that the kids would be 'contained.' Her word, not mine." MacKenzie made a face.

"We have forty-eight hours to find a place for the children or the deal's off."

Beast fumbled for a moment, and then said, "Well - that's not a problem. Call the, uh, the school. They can take the students."

The Xavier Institute had been mentioned - not by name - two meetings earlier, and Beast had given them veiled hints about its general location. Now, seeing the way the lawyers shifted uncomfortably, he suffered a surge of fear that he'd blown something in a big way. What if Rogue was right? If the lawyers were indeeding leading him down a primrose path, then he could have given away the safe haven Xavier had spent his entire life building.

MacKenzie said, "Ah... we can't do that."

"Why not?"

Rabb and MacKenzie exchanged a look, and then Rabb said, "Because there is no school."

Two loud exclamations of "WHAT?" drowned out anything Beast might have said.

Fred, sounding surprisingly concerned, added, "What happened to the school?"

MacKenzie opened her briefcase and pulled out a handful of black-and-white photographs, then motioned to one of the guards that she wanted Beast's cell opened. "These were taken by a spy satellite four days ago. Don't ask us how we got them, or we'll have to kill you," she added, but the humor was forced, and no one so much as chuckled.

Beast waited impatiently for the door to be opened, then plucked the photos from MacKenzie's hand. There were six of them, all high-quality pictures that showed the same unmistakable, horrifying image: the Xavier Institute reduced to a pile of rubble.

It was gone. All of it was gone - the house, the pool, the garage, the fountain, everything. The only thing left was a large collection of bricks, mortar, and debris.

Rabb said, "Someone in the CIA decided to keep a tight lid on this, which is why you haven't seen it all over the news."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Beast said, finding his voice at last.

"Teach - is it true?" Evan asked in an usually timid tone.

Beast nodded. "It looks like it was blown up."

Rogue suddenly yelled an inarticulate yell and kicked at the floor of her cell. "This. Is. Not. FAIR!"

No one disagreed with her. Even the guards looked vaguely sympathetic, although it didn't stop them from raising their weapons. Commander Rabb discreetly motioned for them to stand down.

"I finally start to get my life on track, and then bam! some loser comes along and destroys it all!" Rogue said, gesturing broadly. "And why? WHY? Who gained anythin' by blowin' up our house?!"

"Magneto?" Evan suggested, looking thoroughly bummed out.

Fred shook his head. "Nah. Mystique. I betcha."

"In the sixth photo, you can see some people and a helicopter," Rabb said after a moment. "Unfortunately, after that, the satellite moved out of range."

Beast looked. He had to squint his eyes and bring the photo right up to his nose, but he thought he recognized some people. "Storm... and Nightcrawler... it looks like they made it home, anyway."

"What home?" Rogue said darkly. It was a rhetorical question and was summarily ignored.

Beast squinted a little harder. Was that... Cyclops, yes - good to see he hadn't left after all - and facing him was a dark blur of a figure, who was suspiciously close to an empty, overturned wheelchair. Every idea he'd had about Mystique impersonating Xavier solidified into a dreadful certainty.

"I don't suppose you'd put up the money to get them hotel rooms," Beast said, forcing down his despair and worry over the fate of the X-Men.

"Actually..." Rabb said, exchanging yet another glance with MacKenzie. "We had another idea."

MacKenzie said, "They can stay with us. I'll take Rogue, and Commander Rabb will take Spyke  
and Blob."

Beast waited for the outburst from Rogue, but a look into her cell revealed a girl who had withdrawn from the world and was refusing to acknowledge it. "Rogue?" he tried tentatively.

"Fine. Whatever," she bit off.

Beast sighed. Oh, the joys of managing a surly, cynical teenager. He couldn't fathom why more people didn't go into teaching. "All right. Evan, Fred, how do you feel about this idea?"

Evan said immediately, "I'm sick of this cage, man. Get me out."

Fred nodded. "What he said."

"Doc, your trial is moving ahead," Rabb said, shifting gears. "Mac and I have talked it over; we think if one of us is there in court, the other one could keep an eye on the kids."

Beast winced. "Ah. At the school, we have - had - four teachers, all of them with significant mutant powers, and the property damage... well, you had to see it to believe it."

"We'll also have a Marine guard posted around the apartment," MacKenzie said, "and two military officers inside with them at all times."

"Who?"

"One of us," Rabb said, making a broad gesture that included both lawyers. "And a former sergeant in the Russian Army."

Something about that amused MacKenzie, but she kept it to herself.

"Russian?" Evan asked, looking curious.

Rabb nodded. "Sergei Zhukov. He was on the front lines of the conflict in Chechnya. I don't think three teenagers would give him a problem."

MacKenzie added, overly innocent, "Did you mention that we're all fully qualified to carry guns?"

"No, I think I forgot that part," Rabb said to her, and then turned to the students. "None of you are faster than a speeding bullet, are you?"

Evan, whose rivalry with Quicksilver was the stuff of legend, practically gagged. "Nuh-uh. Not in a million years."

"Oh, thanks for tellin' them," Rogue said, cross. "There's one less thing we can bluff with."

"Would you rather stay here?" Beast pointed out, raising one eyebrow. "We can always watch that educational science programming."

Rogue opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and then, apparently at an utter loss, said, "Darn."


	9. 9

Things moved swiftly after that.

Rabb and MacKenzie arranged for the base to continue to hold the children until the trial actually began - a period of four days. They waited out the time with ever-increasing hyperactivity and frequent complaints about how slowly time was passing.

For Beast, though, the trial date approached with alarming speed; Rabb hadn't been joking when he'd said the prosecution was working fast. This was not going to be a drawn-out agony, but a speedy resolution, almost sure to last less than a month. MacKenzie confided that she'd heard that there was substantial pressure coming in from all sides to decide it one way or the other.

The charges levied against him were not what he'd expected. Very few of them were about his alleged terrorist actions. One was a charge of damaging private property.

"Private property?" he asked his lawyers. They were teleconferencing over a phone.

Rabb answered, "Uh... yeah, that's the car with the roof caved in."

"They're going to nickel-and-dime me to conviction?"

Both lawyers laughed. "This is actually a good sign," MacKenzie told him. "The prosecution is going after lesser charges, which means they don't think they can make bigger charges stick. Their case is weak."

The two lawyers spent countless hours with Beast, both in person and, more frequently, over the phone. Together they built a solid list of witnesses, including former colleagues and friends as well as people who had seen the Sentinel fight.

The day before his trial was scheduled to begin, Rabb arrived at the warehouse - which, as it turned out, was part of the Marine base at Quantico - bearing a cheerful expreesion.

"Hey, kids," Rabb said, garnering three more-or-less enthusiastic greetings from the children. "Dr. McCoy."

Beast nodded hello as Rabb had the guards bring over the television, which had gotten the addition of a VCR the previous day so that the students could watch a movie not available on cable. As far as confinements went, it was pretty cushy. He didn't know why they were still complaining.

"Looks like we've found you another character witness, Doc," Rabb said, slipping a tape into the machine. "Or more accurately, Trish Tilby did. She's a one-woman crusader on this mutant issue."

"She wants Dunston's job," Beast informed him.

Rabb chuckled. "I don't doubt it. But here. This interview will be airing on ZNN later today; we got first dibs. I cued it to the good part," he added. The lawyer hit 'play' and the tape started immediately.

"Doctor, you say that you encountered some of these mutants in California," Trish said, leaning forward slightly. The interviewee, an overweight man with a reddish beard and scholarly glasses, nodded.

"Dr. Patronete," Beast said, sitting up straighter. "Oh, that was a field trip to forget..."

"I was leading an expedition into the redwood forest, with the intent of finding evidence to support the existence of Bigfoot. We mistakenly captured Dr. McCoy," Patronete said. "It was then that I realized two of the people on the expedition were more interested in money than science."

"I understand the two men are now in jail pending a formal trial," Trish interjected. Patronete nodded again, and she confided to the camera, "Authorities have requested that ZNN not release their names, but we can say that they are suspected of multiple crimes, including big-game poaching."

"They forced the rest of us to return with them, despite the unsafe nature of the mountain roads," the scientist continued. "Our vehicles were caught in a mudslide, which swept us into a flooding river, and the entire expedition nearly drowned - including Dr. McCoy."

"But you didn't drown."

"No. Dr. McCoy and his, uh, friends saved us."

"How?"

"He uprooted a tree and swung it out to us, forming a bridge. It was really quite extraordinary."

"And what was your impression of Dr. McCoy?"

"From the first, he appeared to me to be an intelligent, caring being. I remember the last exchange of conversation we had - I asked to learn more about them, and he replied, 'Someday you will.' " Patronete chuckled. "Imagine my surprise when I realized that someday had come so quickly!"

Trish nodded and asked, a bit more sharply, "Dr. Patronete, your work makes something of an outcast in the scientific community, doesn't it?"

Patronete was taken slightly aback, but he recovered swiftly. "Yes, it does. Not many credible researchers want to have any part in tracking a semi-mythic creature like Bigfoot. But even the most cursory review of my work will show that I'm not a crackpot. I've proven many pieces of 'evidence' to be hoaxes when my colleagues were blindly accepting them."

"Still," Trish said. "Why should anyone believe you now?"

"Why shouldn't they?" Patronete asked, a surprisingly sly twinkle in his eye. "I'm not claiming to have discovered Bigfoot or something crazy like that, am I?"

Trish laughed, and Rabb turned off the tape. "I've spoken with Dr. Patronete. He's agreed to testify, and we're making arrangements to fly him here now."

"It sounds like everything is ready," Beast said, not quite able to hide his anxiety.

"It is." Rabb pulled a chair up and sat down, facing Beast with his usual mix of honesty and intensity. "The prosecution hasn't got a prayer. All we have to do is show the jury that you're a solid citizen who has never been a threat to national security. Your doctorate in biochemistry should help that, although don't expect me to play up that angle. Doctors can be very dangerous terrorists - I'm sure you've heard the media drawing parallels to the Unibomber."

"Hey, that's right," Evan tossed in. "One of those late-night shows said they even had the same haircut."

Rabb nodded, gravely serious. "Exactly. So we'll be emphasizing your humanity - compassion, integrity, all of that. And as of right now, you won't be attending the trial - too much trouble with security. Mac is bringing over a satellite video relay so you can still watch the proceedings." He gestured in the direction of the children and added, "At that time we'll be taking them into our custody."


	10. 10

Colonel MacKenzie arrived half an hour later with an armload of electronic equipment, two department store bags, and a folded-up newspaper. The electronics she summarily dumped on the floor and left to the Marine guards to assemble. The bags and paper remained in her hands.

"Open the cells," she ordered one of the guards - Fullham, as it turned out.

He immediately said, "Aye-aye, ma'am," and stepped up to Evan's cell, running the keycard through the lock mechanism.

Evan practically flew out of his cell. "Yes! Freedom at last!"

"Not quite," Rabb warned. "You're still in the government's custody. All you've done is changed keepers."

Evan dismissed that with a snort and a wave of his hands. "Whatever, man - I mean, sir. I was about to go nuts in there."

MacKenzie had been digging around in one of the bags, and now surfaced with a neatly-folded stack of clothes and a pair of sneakers which she handed off to Evan. "Here. Go change."

Evan took the clothes, grinning. "Dude, this just gets better. Nice sneaks."

"Thanks," MacKenzie said, acknowledging the compliment in her taste. "Dr. McCoy helped with this part, though."

"You did? When?" Rogue demanded of him. She sounded more curious than upset.

"Two days ago," Beast said. "That was the meeting that ran until midnight. All of you were asleep."

Fullham unlocked Fred's cell next. Fred emerged with a visible sense of relief, although it was not quite so visible as Evan's display. MacKenzie gave him a new set of clothes as well, and Beast was impressed with her resourcefulness. After all, how many stores carried the size clothes needed by the Blob?

As Fullham was unlocking Rogue's door, Rabb grabbed the newspaper and brought it over to Beast. Holtz, also on duty, immediately moved to open the door. "Thought you might find this one interesting, Doc."

Beast took the paper and Holtz shut the door again. It was that morning's edition of the 'Daily Bugle,' a newspaper he seldom read because of its tendency toward sensationalism. But the banner headline certainly made this edition hard to dismiss.

"MUTANTS: AMERICA'S NEW SCAPEGOATS?"

The byline loudly proclaimed that this was an editorial written by the editor-in-chief himself, one J. Jonah Jameson. Recalling the man's vituperative attacks on anything remotely resembling the paranormal, Beast read on cautiously.

As it turned out, he was pleasantly shocked.

"In the 1700s, we saw innocent men and woman hung for their suspected ties to the Devil. In the 1940s, we saw thousands of Americans sent to concentration camps for their suspected ties to the Japanese Empire. In the 1950s, we saw hardworking and decent people railroaded for their suspected ties to communism. In the last decade, we've seen immigrants and born Americans  
persecuted for their suspected ties to terrorists. Persecution and senseless witch hunts are nothing new to this country. That fact saddens me at the same time it fills me with a sense of outrage. And now, now, we're bearing witness to the start of a brand-new search for a scapegoat. This one has nothing to do with politics, or religion, or gender, or ethnicity. This one is much more diabolical.

"We're not hunting our own kind anymore, if you listen to the rhetoric spouted by men like Dr. Bolivar Trask. We're hunting abominations. Monsters. Evil demons walking among us, just waiting for their chance to leap up and destroy us. They look like us. They pretend to be us. They go to school with our children - they teach our children. We have to get them before they get us.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's garbage.

"Right now, Dr. Henry McCoy is about to go to trial. This is a man - a man, not a monster - who hasn't done a single thing to warrant prosecution. All he's guilty of is being born with the wrong genes, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is a man who went to college on a football scholarship and stayed until he got his doctorate in biochemistry. This is a man who walked away from a high-paying job as a researcher to teach snot-nosed high school kids what an atom looks like. This is a man who is overwhelmingly less guilty than the man accusing him at every turn.

"What I want to know, what any thinking creature should want to know, is why Dr. Bolivar Trask is getting off without so much as a slap on the wrist. It was his giant robot that rampaged through the city streets; it was Dr. McCoy who was running for his life. Who's the real aggressor? Who's posing the real danger to mankind?

"What makes a man a beast - his genes or his actions?

"Ask yourself those questions carefully. Ask the government's prosecutors tomorrow when Dr. McCoy's trial starts. Ask Dr. Trask the next time he starts an anti-mutant tirade.

"Are you ready for a new witch hunt, America? Are you ready to hang more innocents?"

Beast finished reading and folded the paper again; Rabb motioned for him to keep it. "It's an interesting point of view. Refreshing, too."

"We're thinking of reading it verbatim for our opening statement," Rabb said, clearly joking. All the same, it wasn't such a bad idea.

The two boys had finished changing clothes and were standing silently - if fidgeting - behind the lawyers. They looked ready to walk the halls and rooms of Bayville High again. Beast conceded that MacKenzie really had done well.

"While we're waiting for Rogue," Rabb said, "I want to talk about the trial. Mac and I will both be there for the first day, and after that we'll start be taking turns."

"One of us is there with you, the other one is watching the kids," MacKenzie said, giving Rabb a faint smile. "We'll alternate days. It'll be just like parenthood."

An identical smile flickered over his face before vanishing back into a professionally neutral mask. "That way we can make sure that everyone is okay."

"But won't that interfere with... everything?" Beast asked, making a vague, encompassing gesture with the hand not holding the paper. "If you're going with a tag-team defense?"

"No." MacKenzie turned and nodded in the direction of the electronic equipment. "Not thanks to the miracle of closed-circuit TV. We have the apartment wired too, so whoever's staying can watch it."

"It's not the ideal," Rabb said, looking slightly apologetic, "but it was the best thing we could work out."

Beast was filled with more than a little unease about the idea. "If you think it'll work..."

"It'll work," MacKenzie said confidently.

Rogue returned then, wearing an outfit that would've looked more at home on Jean, and as she joined the crowd by the cells, she pulled at her new shirt's long sleeves in vague distaste. "Are we goin' or what?"

"We're going." Rabb stepped away from Beast's cell with a nod and polite, "Doctor."

MacKenzie gestured at the children in a clear "move it or lose it" motion that made Beast think of drill sergeants. Well, they'd survived Wolverine; a Marine shouldn't be too difficult.

The students all filed out, looking over their shoulders and saying goodbye. The lawyers were right beside them the whole time.

"Goodbye," Beast called back. The door shut behind them and he slumped back, sighing heavily. What had he done, turning them over to unknown people like that? He might as well have given them to Magneto. At the same time, he knew that this was truly the best possible action he could've taken. On the outside, the children were infinitely better off.

There was a click, and he looked up to see that Holtz had opened the door to his cell again. The lieutenant gestured. "Well? You want to say goodbye to them or not?"

Beast blinked, then quickly made his way out of the cell. Holtz began walking him to the warehouse doors. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Holtz snorted. "Thank me? Thank the lawyers for getting Blob out of here. He's gone through six months' supplies in two weeks. Base commander was ready to ship you all out to Alaska."

Beast chuckled. "Would they have more food in Alaska?"

"No. But they could turn him loose and let him fend for himself. Free-range - you know." Holtz, it seemed, was in an especially talkative mood tonight.

They cleared the door with no problem and Beast emerged into the fresh air for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He had to squint against the bright light of the full outdoors, but saw plainly a nondescript black van with laquer-black windows sitting just a few yards away. Fred was climbing in with difficulty; the other two students were standing around and looking intimidated by the dozens of armed, camo-wearing Marines also standing around.

"Rogue," Beast called out, deciding to forgo another round of goodbyes in favor of a last-second mission briefing.

She turned around, surprise written all over her pale face, and jogged back to him, throwing wary looks at the Marine soldiers on the way. "Yeah?"

Beast looked up at Holtz. "Could you excuse us for a moment? I swear on a stack of Marine Corps Hymns we won't try to escape."

Holtz narrowed his eyes. "You get twenty seconds."

"More than enough, thank you," Beast said, and motioned for Rogue to come closer as Holtz retreated a discreet distance away. "Rogue, while you're with the lawyers, I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Be my eyes and ears. Find out what you can about them." The assignment would make her feel better, suspicious as she was; there was something to the old adage of "know your enemy."

Rogue looked at the ground, then at him. "I don't want to do this, Mr. McCoy."

The use of his "teacher name" gave him a clear idea of how she was feeling, and it wasn't positive. She wasn't talking about the assignment, either, but about the entire situation of leaving with two humans they'd never met before.

As if she hadn't made that clear already.

He gave her a reassuring smile and put his hand on her arm as best he could, given his restraints. "I know. Nor do I want to stand trial. But the alternative..." He let that hang in the air for a moment, then said, "Do you believe that humans and mutants can live together in harmony?"

She hesitated, then said, "Yeah."

"Then this is your golden opportunity to prove it. You're the leader now. It's your responsibility to keep the boys in line and promote positive human-mutant relationships."

"But... what if it's a trap?"

He bit back a sigh, forced a grin, and said, "In that case, you get my full permission to have Blob sit on their heads."

That earned him the ghost of a smile. "Okay."

"Good." He patted her armand nodded in the direction of the van. "Go on. Don't keep the lawyers waiting; they might decide to sue."

She stood up straighter, face taking on a determined expression; Beast could practically see her accepting all of the responsibilities that had just been laid on her shoulders. Without a word, she turned around and walked - no, strode - to the van, climbing inside with confidence.

He waved to everyone as they drove off, then allowed himself to be escorted back inside.

All in all, he rather felt sorry for the two lawyers.

* * *

Note: Jameson's (surprisingly) enlightened stance towards mutants is best displayed in UXM #346 - "The Story of the Year!" - when Bastion offers him a disc filled with information about mutants... info that's been pilfered from the X-Mansion itself. Faced with the chance to break the story of the century, JJ turns Bastion down flat and burns the disc to ash. He thinks Bastion is a liar, he thinks mutants are being scapegoated, and he doesn't want to undermine the integrity of his paper by printing anti-mutant lies. Right on, dude. Buy the issue for that, and for the chance to see Marrow and Spidey duke it out with each other. Thwip!

Astute Harm/Mac shippers will of course note that there's the infamous baby deal. Just like parenthood, indeed. :)


	11. 11

Note: Judge Green is one of my favorite, favorite minor characters. For non-JAG fans, or those JAG fans keeping score, the two episode she's been in are "Overdue and Presumed Lost," and "Legacy Part II."

* * *

Without the children, the warehouse seemed empty. The lawyers made no further visits that day, and Beast waited out the last few hours feeling utterly alone. He did not sleep well.

The six AM shift change woke him, and even though the trial did not start for several hours yet, he decided to give up his attempts to sleep. Instead he sat staring blankly at the television, thinking of everything and nothing, until one of the guards came over and turned it on. With a start, he realized that the trial began in just more than forty-five minutes.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. This was more anxiety-causing than anything he'd ever been through, including the Homecoming football game in his senior year, and defending his doctoral dissertation as a grad student. He had a fleeting wish that his life had never taken this turn - that he had never been transformed into his current state, that he had never been a mutant at all - but he forced it out of his mind as quickly as it'd come. Angsting was not going to help.

The TV showed only an empty courtroom at first. Then people began to file in, some of them taking seats, some of them doing various tasks to set things up. Soon two familiar figures entered, both of them carrying briefcases and wearing civilian suits. Rabb and MacKenzie turned and gave reassuring smiles to the camera. They cut sharp figures, looking like television's dream of lawyers, all grace and confidence.

Beast did not feel reassured.

The prosecution team came in a few minutes later - all five of them. The government was taking no chances, it seemed. They shook hands with the defense lawyers and retreated to their table. The lead prosecutor was a tall, middle-aged man with thick brown hair, a politician's smile, and a very nice suit. Judging from the expressions on Rabb and MacKenzie's faces as they had a quick, murmured conversation, they thought they could eat the guy for breakfast.

Finally, just when Beast was beginning to understand Evan's need for constant movement, the bailiff announced the judge, one Esther Green, who proceeded to take her seat with an air of possessiveness. Judge Green was a middle-aged black woman with a jaded slant to her eyes, and she was firmly in control of her courtroom, Beast surmised. A good quality in a judge. She brought the room to order and folded her hands across the wood in front of her. "Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie, from the Judge Advocate General's office," she said in a slow drawl, eyeing them. "How is Admiral Chegwidden, anyway?"

"Just fine, ma'am," MacKenzie answered, all cool confidence.

"Huh. Still giving everyone a headache, I bet. Nice to see you in my courtroom again, Colonel," the judge said, amused about something. "Going to let the defendant get carbombed this time?"

MacKenzie smiled, slightly uneasy. "No ma'am."

"Good." Judge Green rested her chin on one hand and said, "I'm presuming you have something to tell me before the opening statements, since you spent an hour harassing my secretary this morning?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Rabb said, standing. "We'd like to request that you declare a mistrial."

The lead prosecutor was on his feet in a second. "Your Honor, the trial hasn't even begun!"

"The defendant is being held in a military facility, in a cage, in shackles," Rabb said firmly, not giving the judge a chance to say anything. "Right now, he's watching the beginning of his trial, through an electrified glass wall, on a fifteen-inch television. He is being denied his Constitutional right to a fair trial and a chance to see his accusers in court."

"Your Honor, Dr. McCoy is being held in a secure location because he is a dangerous-"

Rabb cut him off with a loud and adamant, "Your Honor, such terms are prejudicial to our client, as is the fact that he's not allowed to attend his own trial."

"It's hardly prejudicial," the prosecutor retorted. "It's a common practice. Dozens of serial killers and other-"

"Comparing Dr. McCoy to a serial killer isn't prejudicial?" Rabb shot back, his entire demeanor suggesting raw incredulity.

Judge Green rapped her gavel several times, hard enough to make Beast wince. "Enough! Now sit down and shut up, both of you."

The lawyers sat.

"Commander Rabb," the judge said, turning her face to him. "I know about you and _all _the little stunts you like to pull." She strung the "all" out in an exaggerated accusation. "You're not winning points."

Beast's evaluation of his legal team dipped slightly.

"But," Judge Green went on, "I also know you're stubborn enough to press this issue until we all die of old age, and I don't want to make this thing any more of a circus than it's going to be. Can you guarantee the safety of this court if the defendant is brought here?"

"Dr. McCoy has asserted several times that he is more than happy to obey the rules of the court, Your Honor," Rabb said, looking suitably chastised. "And we are willing to meet the prosecution halfway on this."

"Then court will recess until three o'clock," Judge Green said with a bang of her gavel. "You get your client in here and let's get this over with."

"Thank you, ma'am," Rabb said, and that was how Beast found himself being sheparded into a truck under heavy guard and bundled off to the Virginia courthouse where his lawyers were waiting.


	12. 12

For the occasion, the lawyers had sent someone to meet the truck with a court-appropriate suit, lest their client look like a wildman. There was no tie, but the jacket was exactly the right size and cut, and they'd even managed to procure a pair of shoes that fit his oversize feet, which suggested that Rabb and MacKenzie had been planning this for a while. Beast dressed in the truck with a Marine's gun trained on him, finding it strange to be wearing civilian clothes after so many days in his uniform. They said that you could put a Neandertal man in a suit and he'd pass for normal on the New York subway; he wondered idly if that applied to himself as well. He glanced down at the large, furred hands jutting out of the cuffs and decided that it didn't. _Homo superior_ and _Homo neandertalensis_ were not in the same boat, apparently. Or the same subway car.

He sighed. At least he wasn't going into the courtroom wearing only blue underwear.

The guards unloaded him, slapping the arm and leg restraints on once again, and led him into the courthouse through the back door. The media was swarming the area, flashbulbs popping and questions being shouted in a wild frenzy, but there were even more police officers and soldiers, and no one got close to the guest of honor.

Beast thought he heard Trish's voice over the tumult, but he wasn't sure, and when he craned his head around to check for her, he couldn't see anything but a sea of blinding lights.

Rabb and MacKenzie met him at the door, effortlessly displacing his Marine guards. The lesser soldiers fell back a few steps, saluting at the same time.

"Thanks for the change of clothes," Beast told them. They saluted the guards and started walking down the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

"You're welcome," Rabb answered. "There're some strings attached here, courtesy of the prosecution. You have to keep the restraints on, and you'll be removed to a jail cell after each day. And you'll have a special guard the entire time you're away from Quantico."

"A special guard?"

"All we were told was that they have experience with paranormal abilities," MacKenzie said as they rounded a corner into a larger, grander hallway. Beast saw the large dark-colored double doors on one side and guessed that this was the entrance to courtroom.

Large doors weren't the only feature of note. Four soldiers in full combat gear were standing in the hall, along with a man in a tastefully nondescript three-piece suit with a sour expression on his face. Beast pegged him instantly as someone in the employ of the federal government; he just had that bureaucratic look.

"Webb," Rabb said, more curious than surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Supervising," the man said. He nodded at the soldiers.

"They're from The Company?" Rabb asked, with capital letters audible. Webb was the friend in the CIA, Beast gathered. An appropriate name for a spy.

"They're from a company," Webb corrected. "Not mine."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Beast guessed, that being the only super-secret spy organization he knew, and was gratified to see that everyone in the room looked surprised.

"I'm not going to ask how you knew," Webb said, even more sour. "But since you're such a font of information, maybe you can tell me how the impounded SR-71 Blackbird was stolen three days ago."

"Stolen?" MacKenzie asked. Both she and Rabb looked genuinely startled.

"Stolen. By a black woman with white hair and a boy that could, and I quote, 'shoot lasers out of his eyes,' among others." Webb pinned Beast with a narrow, calculating gaze. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"About the crime? Absolutely nothing," Beast said immediately. He was not shocked to hear it, though. The Blackbird was a vital part of the X-Men's strategies; they weren't going to let it remain in the CIA's hands for long.

Webb made a noise of disgust. "Terrific. Obviously this 'Planet of the Apes' reject is smart enough to cover for his partners in crime. Rabb - the answer to your question is 'no, not hardly.' I'll talk to you two later about what you owe me," he said, pointing at Rabb and MacKenzie, and strode away in a huff of bureaucratic indignance.

"Ignore him," MacKenzie said, flashing Beast a smile. "He's just mad that there's something stamped 'Top Secret' that he didn't know about."

The new guards fell in around them, each resting a large, wicked-looking rifle in their hands. Rabb exhaled quickly and said, "You ready?"

Eying the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers, Beast said, "As I'll ever be."

"Good. Mac, time -?"

"We still have seven minutes and three seconds," she answered, without consulting the watch strapped to her wrist. A split second later, she glanced at Beast and gave him a slightly embarrassed look, raising the hand with the watch. "Yeah, ah... I just wear this so no one asks how I do it."

Beast nodded. Clairvoyance and an innate timekeeping... Her power was limited - certainly useless in combat - but he thought it had to do with a hyperawareness of the present moment. He wished Professor Xavier was there to confirm his theory. She seemed to be more comfortable with the timekeeping than the clairvoyance; there was probably something behind that.

"Time enough for a quick meeting," Rabb said, evidently ignoring the side conversation. He gestured toward a smaller door on the opposite side of the hallway from the courtroom. Beast shuffled his way inside, accompanied by his lawyers. The guards stayed outside.

The room was bigger than his cell at Quantico, and it was more nicely furnished, with a wooden table and four wooden chairs. There was also a telephone in one corner and an attractive houseplant next to it.

He took a seat with one question on his mind. "How are the children?"

"Hungry," Rabb said, tossing his briefcase onto the table. "Between the two of them, they cleaned out my fridge in less than twenty-four hours. Evan alone drank two gallons of milk yesterday."

Beast broke into a broad smile, and then laughter. He knew very well the astonishing rates of food consumption by teenagers, especially those fueled by mutant genes. Calming down, he said, "As far as Evan goes, that's just his body trying to balance out calcium levels against his rapid bone growth. Buy some of those, you know, dietary supplements - the kind that are supposed  
to ward off osteoporosis. Let him have as many as he wants. That should help with the milk consumption."

Rabb snorted, looking both doubtful and resigned.

"Rogue and I are getting along fine," MacKenzie said, cheerily enough, before Beast could ask her. "We had a little bit of trouble at first. Then I told her about my childhood, and things got better. We bonded," she finished in a mock-confidential tone.

"And before you ask, right now they're being minded by Sergei and an admiral who's a former Navy SEAL."

Beast considered. A combat-hardened soldier and a trained killer versus three mutant teenagers. Alone. In an apartment. All day.

If given the choice, he suspected he would've opted for prison instead. "Then I guess I don't need to worry."

"Worry for us," MacKenzie said. "The admiral is our commanding officer."

Thus making the children's babysitter the Judge Advocate General of the Navy. Beast raised his eyebrows at that, then moved onto the next topic of concern. "What about the asylum? Did you get any word on that?"

"I checked," MacKenzie said, shaking her head. "They refused to talk. When I threatened to get a supeona and make them, they denied everything and hung up."

"Stonewalled," Rabb said, somewhat unnecessarily. "But right now we've got bigger problems anyway."

"Tell me about it," Beast muttered, trying not to sound ungrateful.

To his surprise, Rabb slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We can take this."

MacKenzie added, sounding slightly apologetic, "And we need to go back in."

"Is there something appropriately military that I could say?" Beast asked, standing. "Like a desperate battle cry, maybe?"

Rabb said, " 'Go Navy,' " at the same moment that MacKenzie said, " 'Semper Fi.' "

Beast watched his lawyers exchange amused glances with each other, then said, "I guess I'll just go with the old standby of 'Morituri te salutamus.' "

And then he squared his shoulders and followed his lawyers out of the room.

Cast to the lions, indeed.

* * *

Note: Whether you classify Neandertals (and no, I'm not spelling it wrong - go check) as _Homo neandertalensis_ or _Homo sapiens neandertalensis_ dramatically changes their position on the hominin family tree. In one, they're a unique species; in the other, they're a subspecies of _Homo sapiens_ - not to mean a lesser species, but simply one that could interbreed with anatomically modern humans. Even though I dearly love The Clan of the Cave Bear, I'm rather partial to the idea of separate species.

"Morturi te salutamus": The full quote is, "Ave Caesar! Morturi te salutamus," or, "Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you." Did you see 'Gladiator'? I did. It was good.


	13. 13

"When you walk in there, don't look at the floor," MacKenzie said. "That makes you look guilty, like you can't meet anyone's eyes out of shame. But don't look directly at the jury, either. That seems like you're challenging them. Just keep your head up and your eyes straight ahead."

Rabb said, "Once you sit down, that's it. All you have to do is sit there and look easy-going. Doodle on a piece of paper, whatever. But try not to look as though you're not interested in the outcome of the trial. That'll also make you lose points with the jury."

Beast, his head swimming with good advice, simply nodded and tried to remember it all as the S.H.I.E.L.D. guards opened the courtroom doors and ushered him in.

He'd seen the room on television, but the live version was far different, as it was, well, live. Judge Green was ensconced on her bench once again, and watched his entrance with undisguised interest. Whatever else she was, he concluded ("not subtle" sprang to mind), she was honest.

A low murmur of discussion ran around the scattered few people lucky or powerful enough to be inside the room. It died out as soon as the judge started spearing individual talkers with pointed glances.

"Good afternoon, Dr. McCoy," Judge Green said as he approached the defense table.

"Good afternoon, Your Honor," Beast said respectfully, bowing slightly before he sat down next to his legal team. He was carefully not looking at either the floor or the jury, and he wanted more than anything to get out of the room. Maybe Magneto would reappear, since villains had a way of doing that. Maybe Trask would send another Sentinel. Maybe aliens would descend from the vaulted heavens above and take him away from all this.

A man could dream, couldn't he?

"If you give this court any trouble, you're out of here," Judge Green informed him, voice laced with iron. "Are we clear?"

"Overwhelmingly so," Beast said. He darted a glance at the jury out of the corner of his eye; they all bore the same expression on their faces, a look of mixed fascination and fear.

She banged the gavel. "Then let's stop wasting time."

The court heard opening statements from both sides, which took the remainder of the day. As important as it was, as much as his future hung on what they said, Beast found himself zoning out after the first few words from either counsel. It was, he had to admit, incomparably boring, and that from someone who had memorized entire tracts of Shakespeare. Too, the chair he was perched on was so uncomfortable that it served as a constant distraction. Instead of doodling, he fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs and drumming his fingers on the sleeve of his new suit.

At the end of the first day of trial, he was shown to his temporary jail cell. The idea of waking up in there was hardly more appealing than the idea of waking up in his Quantico cell, but the bars were less intimidating than the glass. In fact, he realized somewhere around dinner time, if he had known where Rabb and MacKenzie had taken the students, he would have taken a shot at escaping. Likewise, he thought, if the children had known where he was, and didn't fear for the outcome of the trial, they probably would have made an escape of their own. Held apart, neither side wanted to risk it.

It was an altogether clever way to go about things. Beast revised his opinion of his lawyers yet again.

Shortly after dinner, one of his S.H.I.E.L.D. guards showed up and gruffly announced, "Phone call from your lawyers, Doc."

Curious and apprehensive, Beast waited through the prolonged ritual of having his restraints placed back on before he was led down the corridor and into a cramped room whose only decoration was a battered plastic telephone.

The guard put it on speakerphone and retreated to the door, blocking the sole way out with rifle at the ready.

Beast thought a brief dark thought about the paranoid souls of intelligence agents and cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Doc," Rabb said. "We've got some people who want to talk to you."

"Oh?" Beast asked, but before the word had barely left his mouth, he was answered by an exuberant young voice.

"Hey, Teach!"

He smiled. Evan had always been one of his favorite students; so enthusiastic about life, and with so much potential... it was a shame you had to nail his feet to the floor to get him to learn anything outside of skateboarding. "Evan, how are you?"

"We're all great," he said. "Hey, the only thing I could find out was that Harm is a vegetarian. He tried to get me to drink soy milk, ugh! Oh, and he has a plane. Stearman or something. It's yellow and it's a biplane, like the ones those stunt people use. And he has a brother, Sergei, who flew helicopters in the Russian Army. That's the guy they were talking about. Sergei's over here now, keeping an eye on us with Harm and Mac. They told us to call them that," he added. "Harm and Mac, I mean."

"Interesting," Beast said. He wasn't talking about the names.

"Yeah. This guy is pretty cool, except for the vegetarian stuff. That admiral guy who was here this morning was pretty cool too. He said he knew like sixteen ways to kill people with his bare hands." Evan sounded extremely impressed. There was a wave of background noise, and then he said, "Oh, uh, Fred wants to talk. Hold on."

"Uh, hi, Mr. McCoy," Fred said a moment later.

"Fred. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. I wanted to tell you, because I just remembered today..." He trailed off, hesitation audible. "I think Mystique said something about takin' your professor somewhere no one could find him, you know, with telepathy."

"Thank you," Beast said. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Uh, you're welcome," he said quickly, and added, "Here's Rogue."

Beast waited several moments this time, and when Rogue did get to the phone, she was slightly out of breath. "Hey, Beast."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said, then dropped her voice to a lower, more confidential tone. "Mac - I mean, Colonel MacKenzie - well, her dad was an abusive drunk, and her mama ran off and left 'em on her fifteenth birthday, and then Mac started drinkin', and she ran away from home, got married, and saw her best friend die in a car crash. Then she decided to join the Marines 'cause she needed the discipline. She graduated from Duke, she's into dinosaur fossils and kickboxing, and she was engaged to some guy but he dumped her last year."

Beast was glad she wasn't there to see the smile that spread across his face. From the slight note of awe and respect in her voice, it seemed evident that Rogue had found some common ground with her hostess, and from that, was developing something of a hero-worship complex. "Thank you, that's - that's very thorough."

"She's set up a punchin' bag to show me some moves, so I kinda want to get back to that," Rogue went on.

"Of course," Beast said. "Have a good night, Rogue. I'm glad to here that everything is going well."

There was a burst of laughter somewhere behind her, and in true teenage fashion, she ended the call with an emotionally detached, "Yeah. 'Bye."

The line clicked and went dead. Beast, his mood buoyed by the brief contact with his students, turned around and saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. guard fighting valiantly to keep an amused look off of his face.

"Kids," Beast said, shrugging and grinning at the same time. "I'm ready to go back to the cell now."


	14. 14

Note: While the very basics of Norton McCoy's life are taken from the comics (the job, the accident, and the living in WV, namely), the majority of it is totally, completely, one-hundred-percent Made Up. Oh, and Milton is genuine 616 - a minor character, but one who's in the canon. I got all of this out of the origin story that ran in the back of XM (vol. 1) #49.

* * *

"Rule number one: Never attack the guy with the microphone. He always gets the last word."  
- Stuart Dunston, "First Casualty"

* * *

On the second day, the prosecutor brought forth a veritable landslide of witnesses, most of them bystanders to the Sentinel attack, although there were a few scientists and psychologists scattered in there as well. Beast heard testimony regarding his criminal actions in Bayville; his atavistic genetics and therefore inherently savage nature; how he had rampaged through the city  
streets, causing chaos; and most personally alarming of all, his father's career.

"Mr. Milton, you worked with the defendent's father, Norton McCoy, correct?" the prosecutor asked.

Before the white-haired man could so much as say yes or no, MacKenzie was on her feet. "Objection. What does the defendent's father have to do with the charges brought against him?"

Judge Green looked hard at the prosecutor, then at MacKenzie, and motioned. "Approach."

Both counselors went, and had a whispered conversation with the judge that was too quiet for the rest of the courtroom to pick up on. Beast heard them clearly, although he did wonder how his lawyer had come to know about his father. Good research, most likely. Neither Rabb or MacKenzie seemed to do anything by halves.

"Your Honor, I intend to show that the defendent was raised in an environment which not only condoned but promoted violence and terrorist action."

"Your Honor, a single alleged bad act by the defendent's father is not 'an environment promoting violence.' That's like saying serving one dinner with tofu in it is an environment promoting vegatarianism."

The judge raised her eyebrows. "You know, I can't stand that tofu stuff. Does anyone actually eat it?"

"Ah - one or two people," MacKenzie said. Beast couldn't see her face, but it sounded like she was smiling.

"I heard that your Commander Rabb was a vegetarian," the judge said, apparently abandoning the insignificant matter of an ongoing trial for a chance to make small talk.

"He is, ma'am," MacKenzie said, her tone easy. "I'm... not sure what went wrong with him on that issue. He is from California."

The judge nodded knowingly. "I can't really say I like granola, either. You?"

"Not unless it's got chocolate in it, ma'am."

The prosecutor, who had been getting noticibly ansty, picked that moment to hiss, "What does this have to do with anything?"

Judge Green and MacKenzie turned and gave him a look.

The prosecutor hastily smoothed his tie and tacked on a perfunctory, "Your Honor."

Judge Green rolled her eyes and rapped her gavel. "Objection is overruled. Go sit down, Colonel."

"Yes ma'am."

MacKenzie returned to the table and murmured, "She won't give him another one."

"I wish she hadn't given him this one," Beast murmured back, feeling truly, gut-wrenchingly nervous for one of the few times in his life. He was suddenly glad that his parents had retired to the wilds of West Virginia and didn't bother to leave a forwarding address to anyone except him. Hopefully they hadn't even heard about the Sentinel attack, much less this trial.

"Answer the question, please," the prosecutor told Milton.

"Yes, I worked with Norton," Milton said. "I was his supervisor at the nuclear plant. He and Edna were the youngest members of the community, but both were geniuses. She kept a lovely home."

Now Beast remembered the man, vaguely, from old snapshots and a few stories. Paul Milton... he'd been an old man when Henry McCoy had just been a glint in his father's eye; he wondered how old Milton was now. Ancient, surely, and yet he'd managed to get to the court.

"Tell us what happened on the day of the accident."

"Well... this was before Chernobyl, or Three Mile Island. The safety controls were a little different back then. Anyway, that day I was in my office, and Norton came bursting in... He said the breeder reactor in Section B was overloading. The automatic controls were malfunctioning - one of the circuits was fried, but the computers back then were as big as a room, and we didn't have time to find the damaged circuit. So we decided that one of us was going to have to lower the fuel rods manually."

"Where was Norton McCoy during this?"

"Uh... he had gone to clear the B-R observation deck."

"Whose idea was that?"

Milton scratched his head. "I'm not sure. At the time, I thought he'd suggested it, but I might've told him to, or one of the other supervisors. Everything happened so fast... It was madness. Norton was so clear-headed the entire time. I remember thinking, '_Nothing throws this guy for a loop_.' "

"Go on."

Milton looked lost for a moment, then picked up the thread of narration again. "Before any of us could do anything - make a move toward the manual controls - we heard Norton over the PA system. He'd gone into the manual control room already."

"Where was this room?"

"Right over the control rods. He had to haul on a wheel to lower them."

"So this was dangerous."

Milton snorted in amusement. "Son, 'dangerous' is walking alone after dark in the city. What Norton did was suicidal."

"How so?"

"The amount of radiation he was exposed to was enough to kill him. He was wearing a radiation suit, but it wasn't enough to keep everything out. And then there was the heat - it could've cooked him alive."

"And yet he did it anyway."

"Yes. At the time, I thought if he survived, he would get the biggest promotion. Commendation from the plant chief, tickertape parade from the city... the whole nine yards. And he did, all of it. Not the parade," Milton amended. "It was decided not to alarm the city with news of the close call. But Norton was a hero, no question. At least, that's what we all thought."

"What happened to change your opinion?"

The old man shifted uncomfortably. "I found out where Norton had been that morning, before the accident."

"Where?"

"In the computer room." Milton shifted again. "I also found out... that the malfunction happened while he was the only one in the room."

MacKenzie twitched as though she wanted to say something. She didn't.

Beast's fingers, already curled into a fist, tightened further, until his nails cut into his palm and he felt sharp spikes of pain. How dare these people - how dare they sully the one great act of his father's life with suspicion and lies? It was because of that incident that Norton McCoy had battled with a host of cancers and illnesses, had been forced to take an early retirement, had tried to divorce his wife to save her an early, irradiated death (she'd characteristically refused and hadn't suffered any consequences yet). And now, with the words of an old man, the world would look at all of the heroism and selflessness and see only greed.

"Did you draw any conclusions from this knowledge?"

Milton sighed, looking suddenly frail. "That Norton had sabotaged the computer and caused the entire incident."

MacKenzie didn't bother to stand up. "Objection. Speculation."

Judge Green, who had been listening to Milton with obvious fascination, shook her head and said, "I think that was clear from the question. Overruled."

Beast leaned over and whispered, "I thought you said she wouldn't give him another one."

MacKenzie gave him a wry look, and in barely audible voice, told him, "I'm clairvoyant, not telepathic."

Beast saw the humor, but was in no mood to appreciate it.

Meanwhile, the prosecutor had asked Milton another question, and Milton answered. Every word was another nail in the coffin of his father's reputation, and by extension, his own credibility. Beast found himself too sick at heart to pay much attention as the testimony continued. He wasn't sure how long it was before MacKenzie stood up and said, quite firmly, "Objection! Your Honor, I'm still not seeing any relevance here. If counsel is intending to crucify Mr. McCoy along with his son, this is not the place for it."

This time, Judge Green brought the gavel down on a sharp, "Sustained. Move on."

The prosecutor, though, knew he'd made his point to the jury and cast a triumphant, vindictive glance at MacKenzie as Milton stepped down. Beast tried to meet the man's eyes when his father's former colleague walked past the defense table, but Paul Milton averted his face.

He sighed. Guilt upon guilt. This day had been successful for no one but the prosecution.

On the third day, the prosecutor - he still wasn't sure of the man's name - and Rabb deadlocked in a fierce struggle over a technicality. Judge Green hadn't been joking; Rabb was more stubborn than anyone Beast had ever seen, including Logan - and that was saying quite a bit. The arguing reached such a fever pitch that the judge adjourned until the next day, and told Rabb in no uncertain terms to leave his temper at home the next time.

The news from the outside that night was simple, but positive: the children were learning Russian from Mac and Sergei. Evan, surprisingly, was taking to it like a fish to water, and greeted his teacher with a cheerful "Privyet, Mr. McCoy!"

Beast also had the occasion to speak with Sergei, and found him to be a personable and polite young man. Not for the first time, he wondered how an American military officer came to be in possession of a Russian sibling, also military, but decided (not for the first time) that he probably didn't want to know.

Rogue got on the phone and confessed that she'd accidently touched MacKenzie that morning, but it wasn't all bad because the colonel was okay and now Rogue knew what a fossilized theropod footprint looked like. Hero worship apparently didn't preclude mischief.

Beast counted to ten, gritted his teeth, and told her to be more cautious from now on.

And Trish dropped by to visit him.

* * *

Theropod footprint: In Mac's first appearance - "We The People" - her uncle Matt shows her and Harm two sets of fossilized dinosaur tracks. While the show claims that the tracks are from a large theropod (carnivore) and a smaller sauropod (herbivore), they both have the three-toed configuration of a theropod. Shoddy research, that, and one of my greatest pet peeves of the entire series.


	15. 15

"Got a visitor, McCoy," one of his guards informed him, unlocking his door and holding out the arm restraints.

Beast allowed the devices to be placed on his wrists, curious. "Who is it?"

"Reporter," the guard said. These guards didn't talk very much, Beast had noticed. The list of reporters who could speak with him was short. Very short, in fact, and he wondered exactly how Trish had wrangled this meeting. Not that he was complaining.

The guard and one of his colleagues lead Beast down the hall and into a standard interview room: cinderblock decor, with a video camera in one ceiling corner, peeling bottle-green paint on the walls, a cement floor, one rickety table, and two metal folding chairs. The only thing setting it apart from thousands of other such rooms was the effervescent newswoman standing in the middle of it.

"Hank," she said, greeting him with a smile and a warm tone of voice. "Nice bracelets."

"Yes, but they don't go with the rest of my outfit," he said, and was rewarded with a laugh. He had reverted to his X-Men uniform outside of court, on the grounds that it was simply more comfortable. He sat down and she did the same. "What are you doing here, Trish?"

"Officially? I'm here to get your reaction to the grassroots anti-mutant organization that just started up," she said, then grinned. "But really I just want to see your furry face again."

As much as it would have delighted him to believe that, he couldn't. Trish was a reporter - a fairly ruthless one, who would get a story any way she could. Engaging in some relatively harmless flirting with a subject was certainly one proven tactic to get someone on your side, and rather effective too, he was forced to admit. He didn't trust her. Not entirely. Still, she hadn't stabbed him in the back yet, so he decided to continue being secretly pleased. Meanwhile, there were more important matters. "An anti-mutant group already? Mutants have been out for barely two weeks!"

Trish rolled her eyes. "What can I say? Bigots and racists work fast." She deepened her voice dramatically and gestured, saying, "From the same people that brought you the Ku Klux Klan, gay-bashing, and abortion clinic bombings, comes a new and exciting hate group called the Friends Of Humanity. Join today! Kill the mutant scum! Save your pure human genes!"

Beast snorted. "Just what the world needed."

"Oh yeah. And you didn't have to sit and talk to their leader for four hours," she said, dropping the telemarketer voice and leaning back in her chair. "That Graydon Creed is radiating bad vibes with a capital 'Psycho.' "

"Creed?" Beast repeated, thinking instantly of Wolverine's nemesis Victor Creed, aka Sabretooth. How ironic would it... but probably not. Coincidence accounted for a lot in life.

"A real jerk-to-riches story on him," she said, dismissing the whole thing with a flick of her wrist. She pulled out a small tape recorder and thumbed it on. "So what's your reaction, Hank?"

He curbed his curiosity regarding Graydon Creed and thought about it for a moment. "Well, of course I deplore the notion of an anti-mutant anything. Mutants are human too, just with an altered set of genes. We didn't ask to be born this way; all we ask is a chance to live our lives freely as productive citizens."

"You," she said, clicking the 'off' button, "should be in politics."

He chuckled. "That's the last time I'll hear that, I'm sure."

"A smart guy like you? No way."

An idea occurred to him. It wasn't the best idea, nor the most sound, but if the gaping question of her loyalty could be ignored for a moment, it looked fairly feasible. "Trish, could I ask you to do me a favor?"

She held up the tape recorder, apparently considering, then put it on the table where he could see that the 'record' button was not depressed. "Depends."

He took a deep breath. "One of my colleagues - an old family friend, actually - may be being held against his will. We've been unable to get information one way or the other."

"And you want me to go find out," she said.

"In a word, yes."

She looked at him for a moment, face inscrutable, and then sighed and said, "All right. Who am I looking for, and where am I looking?"

Feeling an immense wash of relief, Beast told her. She wrote everything down, eyebrows raising with each new detail. "One more thing," he added as she prepared to leave.

"There's always a catch," she said, tucking her notepad and pen away. She didn't sound unhappy, though. "Go ahead."

Carefully, enunciating every syllable, he said, "This is not a story. This is a favor."

Trish scowled, but just as quickly smiled. "Don't worry, Hank. I do pro bono work too."

On the fourth day, MacKenzie recalled all of the prosecution's witnesses for cross examination and ripped through their testimony with a speed and ruthless decisiveness that left the prosecution blinking and the government's case in tatters. Even Milton and his insinuations against the elder McCoy were left looking completely untrustworthy. She argued. She accused. She hammered. She badgered. She was merciless. She was pitiless.

She was a damn good lawyer.

What the woman was like in combat, with a weapon in her hand and the freedom to kill her targets instead of verbally mauling them, Beast had no desire to find out.

She did such a thorough job, Rabb confided to Beast (sounding not a little proud as he did so), that by the fifth day of the trial the prosecution only had one witness left. That was good for the defense. It was also unfortunate, because the last witness remaining was the shining jewel in the prosecution's case.

Dr. Bolivar Trask.

* * *

Note: For those totally in the dark, Graydon Creed is also Mystique's son, thus giving Mystique the weirdest family tree in the X-verse. IMHO, anyway.


	16. 16

When Beast arrived at the courtroom that morning, Rabb immediately pulled him into the meeting room with the nice houseplant. Before either of them had taken a seat, Rabb said, "Trask is going to make or break the government's case."

"I figured as much," Beast said. He'd been provided with a new tie for the day, and it got in the way of his handcuffs as he sat. "Forgive me for asking a stupid question, but why are they calling Trask again?"

"Because they want to lose," Rabb said, a truly dangerous expression settling over his face. At times like these, it was easy to see the fighter pilot beneath the attorney - the warrior's uncompromising instincts lurking just below the surface of civility. "They think they can use Trask's brains and credentials to prove that you're the bad guy. But what's going to happen is the exact opposite."

"It is?"

"That's the plan." There was a hint of nervousness in those words that made Beast's anxiety level rachet upwards considerably. Rabb moved on with, "Right now we're waiting for some last-minute confirmation of data on our boy Trask."

"Oh. So... how are the children?"

"Pretty good. What did Rogue do to Mac the other day?" he demanded, suddenly shifting gears.

Beast coughed. "Absorbed her memories. It's a temporary process."

Rabb shook his head in plain disbelief. "God, what a world. I remember the stories my grandma told about World War II and 'Captain America.' I thought she was kidding. And now here I am, with a human blob and a human pincushion living in my apartment, my partner is hosting a human leech, we're defending a Bigfoot lookalike, and I'm about to question a guy who built a  
giant mutant-hunting robot."

Beast raised his eyebrows. "It could be worse."

"I'm sure it could." His lawyer gave him a knowing look. "I could have my own personal reporter hanging around twenty-four-seven."

There was a brisk knock on the door, and it opened to reveal one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. guards standing closely behind a woman Beast was getting rather used to seeing.

"Speak of the devil," Rabb said.

"_Buenos dias_ to you, too, Commander." Trish said brightly, although her smile held a promise of fangs. She had a sheaf of file folders tucked under one arm, and deposited those on the table next to Beast. "How are you, Hank?"

"Worried," he answered.

"Don't be." She seated herself without invitation and jerked a thumb in the direction of the folders. "Okay, that's everything you wanted. Now talk."

Rabb caught Beast's confused and curious expression and said, "Colonel MacKenzie and I called her. We needed some information about the Sentinel program. You probably guessed that Webb was checking out the military end of things. He was able to tell us that Trask is being supported by a branch of the service - the blackest of black ops. He couldn't tell us which branch, or when the project was authorized, or what the budget is. The last question I asked - the one he answered out in the hall the day the trial started - was whether or not the black-ops money was enough to keep the project running."

" 'No, not hardly,' " Beast quoted. Rabb's eyebrows raised slightly at that; evidently he wasn't used to people remembering offhand conversations several days later.

"Exactly," Trish said, smoothly taking over the narrative. "And since these legal eagles of yours suspected as much from the start, they asked me to check out Trask's bank accounts. I told you I do pro bono work."

Rabb, looking a little irritated that his thunder had been stolen, prompted, "And?"

"And there's a lot of money coming in from places and people that don't want to be found. One of them is Graydon Creed."

"The Friends Of Humanity guy?" Rabb asked sharply, sitting up straighter.

"The one and only," Trish said, adding "Thank God," under her breath. "He's channeling a ton of cash into Trask's little project through dummy corporations and the like. I can't make any of this stick in court, so don't whip out a subpeona."

"Understood," Rabb said. He reached across the table and grabbed the folders, taking the top one and flipping through it briefly. "I don't know if I want to pursue this angle anyway. I think we can nail Trask just on the Sentinel fight alone."

Beast, not caring as much about the legalese as he did about the revelation, had been turning Trish's statement over in his head. "So Creed is funding Trask."

"Yup. I'm sure there's a scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours dynamic there."

Beast frowned. "How long ago did their partnership begin?"

"Five years ago," Rabb said, reading from the folder.

"But -" Beast paused, looking at the other two people with an-ever deepening frown. "If that's the case... five years ago, mutants were nowhere to be seen. And the Friends Of Humanity has just started."

Rabb had apparently reached the same conclusion just as swiftly as his client. "Which means Creed already knew about mutants and was just biding his time before they were forced out into the public eye."

Trish glanced from Rabb to Beast. "But how?"

Beast remembered his dismissed theory about Graydon Creed's parentage and debated internally whether or not to tell Rabb and Trish. Did they need to know? Should they know? What good would come if they played this card - assumming it was a valid theory - right now? A far better scheme would be to hold back the information until Creed posed a serious threat, and then destroy his credibility.

It was a manipulative, underhanded scheme, and Beast was somewhat reluctant to follow it, but there was something to be said for having one last card up your sleeve.

So instead of saying, "His father is a mutant," Beast simply shrugged and said, "Who knows?"

Trish gave him a sharp-eyed look, but said nothing on the subject. Instead she leaned forward and said, "Hey, Rabb, while I've got you as a captive audience - is it true that you actually dated Renee Peterson for two years?"

Rabb gave her a slightly barbed smile. "Don't tell me you know her."

"By reputation only - and what a rep it is. I can't believe you ignored her attitude for that long." She leaned forward more. "I heard her father died, she went to the funeral, then married the mortician just a few weeks later."

The lawyer dismissed that with a cool, "He was her childhood sweetheart. Is there a point to this?"

Trish was having fun. Beast wondered if there was ever an occasion when Trish did not have fun. She probably had fun whenever she got audited by the IRS; he could easily picture her turning the tables on the auditor and making the poor soul cry. "Oh, sure. The reason I asked is because it seems that the timing is so odd, considering that Colonel MacKenzie's fiance had vanished back to Australia not two months before. What a coincidence, huh?"

Rabb's cool calm had given way to an adversarial smirk; he obviously liked having a worthy opponent. "Mac and I are friends, and you can quote me on that. You know who you remind me of, Ms. Tilby?"

Now it was Trish's turn to smile a barbed smile. "No, but if you say 'Lois Lane,' I'll kill you. We have nothing in common. For one thing, I work for a network, not a paper. And I don't fall off of buildings. And if I did, I wouldn't be caught by a sexy alien wearing a cape. I don't even _know_ any aliens with capes."

"Jealous?" Rabb asked.

"Nah. Lois is just the distinguished competition." Trish gave them both an amused look - one that seemed to hold an additional glitter for Beast - and said, "Isn't it time for you boys to get to court?"

* * *

Note: Sure, Trish doesn't know any aliens in capes _now_ - but in UXM #342, she was there when Gladiator showed up to ask the X-Men for help. And then she got to join them on their jaunt to the Shi'ar throneworld, and from there onto Gambit's trial in Antarctica. Much fun.

Lois really is the Distinguished Competition. DC, get it? Ah, yes, my favorite bit of Marvel slang... Couldn't resist, sorry. :)


	17. 17

The courtroom was quiet, but hummed with a tension that set Beast's hair standing on end. He settled into his customary chair and tried not to bang his handcuffs on the table, lest the silence be broken.

Judge Green had no such compunction. She swept in and took her place at the bench, pounding the gavel with authority, and got the morning off to a smooth start by giving both Rabb and the prosecutor a ten-minute lecture on not repeating the arguing of the other day. The judge called the prosecutor by his name, but by that point Beast was thoroughly zoning out, and he missed it. He felt slightly chagrined; teachers weren't supposed to zone out. That was for students.

Once the chewing-out session was over and everyone's egos were back in check, the prosecutor stood and called Bolivar Trask to the stand.

Trask was led in, with three of his flunkies coming in behind him. They took up seats in the gallery - one directly behind the defense table.

Trask looked down at Beast as he walked past, a triumphant, hateful glint in his eyes. Beast stared back with as much equanimity as he could muster. The words of Jameson's editorial came back to him - why was this man getting off without so much as a slap on the wrist?

Trask was sworn in and the prosecutor began his questioning. He didn't stop until the sky outside the courtroom was beginning to be tinted with orange.

Trask testified about his degrees in mechanical and computer engineering, his stint in the military, his peaceful intent in building the Sentinel, his donations to charities, his basic human goodness. He spent hours explaining in minute detail just how the Sentinel worked, explaining with a palpable sense of apology that they'd had to program it with orders to terminate mutants because "if not permanently incapacitated, they could seriously damage the machine and their surroundings, including innocent bystanders, in their attempts to escape."

Finally, the prosecutor returned to his chair and said, "No further questions at this time."

Everyone - including Judge Green - breathed a sigh of relief.

Rabb stood and leisurely paced in the general direction of the witness stand. "Dr. Trask, you were in the military?"

"Yes," he said. "Most of my service record is classified, though, because of the work I did."

"I understand," Rabb said, flashing a small grin that looked entirely genuine. "There's no need to go into details, but during that time, were you ever placed in charge of a mission?"

"I was."

"Ever see action yourself?"

"Once or twice, yes."

"I've been shot at a few times." If the newsmedia's reports were valid, then those "few times" included everything from handguns to missiles. Certainly he'd seen just as much combat as Trask; Beast wondered how Rabb managed to understate so drastically with such a straight face. "It gets pretty intense, doesn't it?"

"At times."

"Things happen fast... the scene can become confusing..."

"The fog of war?" Trask chuckled without mirth. "Yes, I've been there. But you learn to compensate."

Rabb nodded. "So you had no trouble keeping track of everyone during the Sentinel fight."

"No. Even if I lost sight of someone, our computers tracked them, and the Sentinel was giving us a real-time visual."

"You had plenty of time to see and record what each of the mutants were doing?"

"Yes. We analyzed the tapes extensively afterwards."

"How many people - innocent civilians - received medical attention after the fight?" Rabb asked, pacing back to the table and picking up a piece of paper.

"Ah... twenty-two, I believe."

"That's right. In fact, six of those twenty-two were hospitalized, one of them in critical condition." Rabb returned the paper to its place on the table; it must have held the numbers or been for dramatic effect only. Likely both. "Doctor, how many of those people were injured by the mutants?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Of the twenty-two people reported hurt, how many of them were directly or indirectly injured by a mutant or mutants? Stray lightning blast, flying cars...? How many were injured that way?" Trask stared at the lawyer for a long moment, apparently speechless. Then a flush of red began to rise upwards from the collar of his suit, and he said tightly, "I don't know."

"You just said that you kept track of all of their actions during the fight, that you extensively analyzed the recordings afterwards. I'm sure you counted the number of times a mutant endangered someone's life."

"We did."

Rabb raised his eyebrows. "And?"

Trask gave him a look that would have petrified a Gorgon and said nothing.

"Let me rephrase that," Rabb said, all business and clearly loving his job. "How many people did your Sentinel injure?"

Trask's eyes narrowed, and his jaw visibly tightened.

"Your Honor," Rabb said, turning toward the judge. He didn't have to vocalize the request; the judge was already frowning down at the witness stand.

"Answer the question, Dr. Trask," Judge Green ordered.

Trask, now an unhealthy shade of tomato, didn't unclench his jaw as he muttered, "Twenty-two."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that," Rabb said. "Could you repeat it - a little louder this time?"

"Twenty-two," Trask said, much louder than necessary.

Raising his voice and gesturing broadly, Rabb turned to face the jury and said, "So your machine caused all of the injuries?"

If looks could kill, Rabb would have been dead thrice over. "Yes."

"Who started the fight, Dr. Trask?"

"They did. The mutants broke into our facility."

"Why?"

"Objection - calls for speculation," the prosecutor said, looking slightly overwhelmed by the entire experience.

"Sustained," the judge said. "Keep it to the facts, Rabb."

"Sorry, Your Honor. Did the mutants give any reason for breaking into your facility?"

"They didn't need to," Trask snapped, still angry. "It was obvious why."

"Why?"

"Objection," the prosecutor put in, adding, "again."

"Your Honor, Dr. Trask has said that it was obvious why the mutants broke in. Since it's that clear, I'd like to know too."

"So would I," Judge Green said, looking interested. "Overruled."

Rabb turned back to Trask. "Well?"

Trask looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I'd rather not say."

Beast put the pieces together and sat up straighter, accidentally knocking his handcuffs against the table. The noise caught everyone's attention, including Rabb's, and he gave Beast a questioning look.

Beast motioned for him to return to the table. Rabb turned around and said, "One moment, please, Your Honor."

"Go on," the judge said, settling back in her chair and looking mildly disappointed at the delay.

The second Rabb was within whispering distance, Beast said, "Trask kidnapped our teammate, a man named Wolverine, probably to run tests on him. He must think that we came to rescue..."

He trailed off as Rabb nodded and returned to the attack. "Thank you," he said to Judge Green, who just nodded.

"Dr. Trask, you still haven't answered my question."

"It had to do with one of our experiments," Trask said, grudgingly.

"The Sentinel project, right?"

"That's right."

"In fact, it had to do with your test subject, didn't it?"

"We would never run tests with live volunteers," Trask said, but the lie was transparent all the way across the room.

"But you did. You kidnapped a mutant named Wolverine and used him to test out your Sentinel. Isn't that right?" Rabb pinned Trask with a steel-eyed gaze and added, "And you're still under oath, Doctor."

"I object to the word 'kidnapped.' "

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' " Rabb said. "So when Dr. McCoy and the others showed up, you assumed they were coming to retrieve him."

"And to destroy the Sentinel," Trask countered. "These genetic abominations will stop at nothing to secure their place at the top of the food chain. They're no better than ani-"

"Dr. Trask," the judge cut in, tone sternly rebuking, "I'll thank you to keep your rhetoric out of my courtroom. You wait to start your lynch mob until you get home. Are we clear?"

Trask nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Have that last remark of his stricken from the record," Judge Green ordered the stenographer, who nodded, her fingers flying.

Rabb reclaimed the floor. "So the mutants made it inside your facility. Who made the first move after that?"

"We sent the Sentinel after them in a pre-emptive action."

"Pre-emptive?" Rabb echoed, looking interested. "In other words, you shot first and asked questions later."

"They were there to destroy the project," Trask said, banging one fist on the rail of his chair, his color and volume rising again. "We had to stop them! The future safety of America depended on it! For our protection, they had to be eliminated!"

Rabb let the angry words hang in the courtroom for nearly fifteen seconds, staring at Trask with an unmistakable air of quiet, righteous fury. Finally, he said, "You had to eliminate nine children by attacking them with a thirty-foot machine armed with missiles, energy cannons, and orders to kill. If that's the future of America, you can have it."

"Objection-" the prosecutor started, but Rabb turned on his heel and strode back to the defense table.

"No further questions at this time, Your Honor."

Judge Green rapped her gavel. "There is a God. Adjourned until tomorrow."

The S.H.I.E.L.D. guards appeared out of nowhere, and Rabb stood with Beast as he walked to the waiting truck.

Trask cornered them at the door. "Mutant collaborator," he spat by way of greeting.

"Hello to you too, Doctor," Rabb said calmly.

Trask put a finger in the lawyer's face, practically shaking in fury. "Species traitor - you're undermining the country you've sworn to protect!"

"I swore to uphold the Constitution," Rabb corrected, still unruffled. "Dr. McCoy is protected by the Constitution, just like you are. Species doesn't matter."

The scientist was not put off by the argument. He leaned closer and hissed, "I know why you're really doing this."

Rabb narrowed his eyes and said in a low voice, "I doubt it."

Trask leaned back, a chill little smile twisting his face, and said, "Sarah MacKenzie."

Rabb didn't do anything.

He didn't move, he didn't flinch; he didn't so much as bat an eyelash. In fact, his neutral expression only became more bland.

But Beast, who was getting to know the man, realized that the utter lack of betraying reaction was, in reality, a betraying reaction. What Trask had said had struck Rabb to the core, and Beast had a fair idea of why that might be.

With the cool precision of an executioner, Rabb stepped forward, invading Trask's space in exactly the same way that his had been invaded a moment earlier, and said, icy calm, "You're getting way out of your league, Trask. Go home and build some more toys."

If Trask had looked red-faced before, now he was apoplectic. Rabb turned away and strode out  
of the door before the scientist could do more than splutter incoherently in rage. Beast and his  
guards followed, the former trying unsuccessfully to keep a broad grin from his face, and the  
latter not quite biting back snickers.

"The battle is not the war!" Trask finally shouted out as the door shut. He was referring, of course, to the time-worn cliche about winning the battle and losing the war; but if Rabb and MacKenzie's performance thus far was any indication, Trask had already lost both.

And apparently Rabb agreed, because Beast heard him mutter, "It is for you."


	18. 18

Beast had been back in his cell for no more than two hours when a guard unlocked his door and proceeded to slap the arm restraints on again.

"What's going on?"

"Phone call from your lawyer," was the only clue.

Beast still hadn't worked out a way to hold the receiver to his ear, so the guard helpfully put the call on speakerphone. "Commander? Colonel?"

"Just me," Rabb's voice said. "And someone else."

"Stop acting like I'm a nonperson," Trish said, her voice coming in loud and clear over the speakers. It sounded like her feathers were rather ruffled over something. "You're the one who set up this conference call. And stop tiptoeing around the reason we called. Hank, that sorry son of a black-eyed jackal tried to kill me!"

There was only one good question that sprang to mind, so Beast asked it. "Who?"

"Trask, Creed, take your pick," she said. "One of their heavies put a few dozen bullets through my car's windshield this afternoon, while I was in the front seat."

"Are you all right?" Beast asked her, feeling a surge of worry that blotted out any of his earlier concerns about her trustworthiness. The part of his mind still making rational decisions regarding Trish cautioned that it could all be a set up - a clever ploy designed to ease his fears. He told himself to be quiet and stop watching 'Mission: Impossible' reruns.

"She's fine," Rabb cut in. "A few lacerations and bruises. Nothing too bad."

"Speak for yourself, 'Hammer,' " Trish shot back. "You didn't have a doctor stitching the back of your head closed."

"Not today, no." A dangerous note crept into Rabb's voice. "But until you've been fished out of the Atlantic with severe hypothermia, I don't want to hear about it."

"Should I call the police and alert them to a double homicide in the making?" Beast asked, keeping his tone light.

Rabb laughed. "No."

Trish laughed, too, but she was still angry. "Not yet, anyway."

"What happens now?" Beast asked.

"I expose Trask and Creed's little friendship to the world," she said immediately.

Rabb cleared his throat. "I don't know if that's such a good idea-"

"Why not? They obviously want me dead. They want you people dead, too, or is Colonel MacKenzie off filing that break-in report just for fun?"

Beast grew more alarmed. "There was a break-in?"

"Yeah. Mac and Rogue were coming back from somewhere, found her apartment door hanging open. They left and called 911." Rabb exhaled heavily. "Witnesses say they saw a man running from a back entrance not long after. He had a weapon."

There was a burst of background noise, and Trish came back on with a cross, "I've got to go. I'm at work, Hank, and these people couldn't put together a news report if the world depended on them."

Rabb started to say something, but she cut him off. "AND I'll keep Trask and Creed to myself. Happy?"

"Yes," Rabb said. He sounded less happy than resigned.

"Good. 'Bye, Hank."

The line clicked.

After a moment, Beast asked, "Is she really all right?"

Rabb chuckled. "Oh yeah. She's in the right career, too."

"How so?"

He chuckled again. "Since her first reaction after an assassination attempt was to chase after the guy with the gun... War journalist is perfect. I'd say she would be good in the service, except she doesn't follow orders."

Beast let the scenario create itself in his mind. It was more frightening than he cared to admit - guns, bullets, flying glass and torn metal, and in the midst of it, a woman with no special powers getting up and pursuing the man who'd tried to kill her. He wanted to shake her for being so foolhardy; at the same time, he admired the strength of character such an act must have taken. "Did she catch him?"

"No, but she gave a pretty good description to the police, and I've asked Webb to look into it." Rabb sighed, weary. "At this rate I'll owe him into the next two millenia."

Owing a spy sounded like a ticket to trouble. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's for a good cause. I'll call if anything else happens tonight."

"Of course."

Rabb hung up without so much as a perfunctory "good night," plainly too distracted by worry to be bothered with the usual niceities. Beast suspected that the man wasn't worried for Trish, or for Rogue, or for anyone besides his partner.

Trask's threat had been directed at Colonel MacKenzie, after all. It stood to reason that she was his ultimate target - along with Beast and the children.

They were cut off from their teammates, cut off from each other, surrounded by guards who might or might not be honest. And the only people conceivably standing in Trask's path to victory were a lawyer and a not-quite-trustworthy reporter.

"This is bad," Beast informed the handset of the phone. "Very bad."

* * *

Notes: In UXM #349, Trish single-handedly saves all of the X-Men (okay, so their powers were being supressed, but still) from the evil Nanny robot by bashing its head in with a metal pipe. Her comment at the time: "As superheroines _du jour_ go - I think I make a really good news anchor." That is, without a doubt, my favorite Trish moment.

_Mission: Impossible_ reruns: most notably "The Mind of Stephan Miklos," still one of the most densely-plotted hours of television ever made. The IMF convince Miklos that false information is true by convincing him that they're trying convince him that it's false. Yes, it _sounds_ confusing, but on the screen it just unfolds beautifully.


	19. 19

There wasn't much for the prosecution to do after that. They spent the next day fighting to recover from the damage Rabb had done, recalling both Trask and a few of their earlier witnesses to testify anew. Each time they managed to get above water again, though, MacKenzie took them back down. At the very end of the day, as twilight fell outside, the lead prosecutor very grudgingly rested the government's case.

And then it was the defense's turn, and with the lawyers Beast had, the defense never rested. When he bid MacKenzie farewell at the courthouse, she mentioned that they were intent on gathering the last shreds of evidence needed for the start of their case tomorrow. Nevermind that they'd been running themselves to the ground already; Beast had overhead them offhandedly talking about the cases they'd been forced to give up. It was a miracle their commanding officer had agreed to let them take on something so big and so far outside of their usual realm.

They weren't the only ones working hard, as it turned out.

Beast was contemplating a particularly troublesome equation in his cell when the guard appeared. Before the man could speak, Beast stood, saying, "Let me guess. It's my lawyer on the phone."

"Not this time."

And indeed, they walked past the telephone room and to the visitor's room. In the moment before the door was opened, Beast felt himself tense in an involuntary reaction. Anyone could be on the other side of the door. One of Trask's assassins, even.

But all of his fears proved unfounded. Trish was sitting at the table, leaning back in one of the chairs with a carton of take-out Chinese in one hand and a plastic fork in the other. "Hello, Hank. I hope you don't mind if I eat - I've been running on half a bagel and lite cream cheese since this morning."

"Go ahead," he said, seating himself across from her. "Did you find anything?"

She nodded around a mouthful of noodles. "You know, a Marine lawyer yelling at you on the phone is scary. A reporter threatening an expose to your face with a cameraman behind her - that's terrifying."

He made an affirmative noise and waited somewhat impatiently for her to continue.

"Here's how the story goes," she said, propping her feet up on the table and looking utterly at ease. No mean accomplishment, considering she was alone in a room with a suspected terrorist whose handcuffs were little more than decoration. But then, she had never seemed uncomfortable around him, not even from the start. Of course, he amended before he got too far down that line of thought, a reporter was more than capable of hiding their feelings when they needed to.

Trish was saying, "Your friend was at the asylum - and they prefer to call it a 'mental health institute,' by the way - the day Miss Psycho-hands escaped. The last anybody saw him, he'd collapsed in a private cell and was being rushed to the nearest hospital by one of the doctors on staff."

"Did they know why he'd collapsed?"

"They said he'd been injured by the patient during her escape. Apparently she had a habit of playing rough." Trish poked around in the carton. "And she must have, because the doctor who escorted your friend to the hospital was found not ten minutes later stuffed into a broom closet, sedated and bound and gagged with duct tape. Pretty good for an escaping psychiatric patient, huh?"

"Too good. That was Mystique's work."

Trish nodded, too busy chewing to verbalize, and then swallowed and said, "Do you people really use those names?"

"What names?"

"Those comic-book superdude spandex names," she said, pointing her fork at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. " 'Mystique.' 'Beast.' 'Spyke.' Those names."

"It's 'The Beast,' actually. They're codenames," he replied with injured dignity, "and yes, we do use them."

She looked like she was biting back a comment about that, but maybe it was just a stray piece of food. "So after I finished scaring the pants off the asylum's director - and that's what he said, can you believe it? What a shrimp."

Beast chuckled at her choice of words, nonetheless a little surprised to hear it. "He told you that?"

She shook her head. "No, I was listening at the door."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't tall enough to see through the window," she answered, giving him a wicked grin. "But where was I... Okay, after the scaring, I went to the aforementioned hospital, and guess what I found? Nothing. Zilch, nada, zero. Your friend was never there. Not even under a false name. I know that because I skipped lunch to track down all the nurses who were on duty that night and check. No one matching his description was admitted."

Beast sighed, feeling his spirits sink low. As much as he wanted to believe that she was lying to him, he very much doubted it. Fred had stated earlier that Mystique took the professor somewhere where no one would find him, not even with telepathy, and he had already come very near to giving up hope on the subject. It was heartening, however, to see that Trish was keeping her promises.

"I'm sorry, Hank," Trish said, and she sounded sincere. "I know you wanted to find this guy."

"Thank you for looking," he said, also being sincere.

"No problem. I love the war stuff, but investigative reporting is fun too." She abandoned the fork in the carton and set the carton on the table, pulling two objects out of her jacket pocket. "Fortune cookie?"

"Sure," he said, awkwardly catching the plastic-wrapped cookie that she threw at him. It looked tiny in his hands.

"You know, I found a picture of you, from back before you forgot how to use a razor," she said, opening the packaging of her cookie. "You're a handsome guy, Hank."

"Past tense, please," he said. He was having a bit of trouble opening the plastic, and it was only compounded by the idea that Trish thought he was - had been, he sternly reminded himself - handsome.

She bit off one end of her cookie, waving dismissively. "Eye of the beholder. I also found out that you took a major pay cut when you switched jobs. From research chemist at the Brand Corporation to high school teacher -? Big leap."

"It was," he said, finally getting the blasted plastic off of the cookie. "It was also the best decision I ever made."

"Why'd you do it?" she asked, pulling out the slip of paper and giving it a cursory glance. She seemed more interested in the cookie than the fortune.

He paused in his fight with his fortune cookie and said, "Because one morning I woke up and realized that I hated my job with a passion, and I could be doing a thousand other things that would actually help people, which I was not doing by playing with beakers and erlenmeyer flasks."

"I was told," she said briskly, brushing cookie crumbs from her hands, "that there were fifty other chemists, some with outstanding resumes, who applied for the same position that you did. And you, fresh out of grad school, with no significant accomplishments to speak of - you got the job."

"I was lucky."

She stood and pushed her chair in. "Well, I make my own luck."

"So I noticed." He watched her straighten her jacket, dark hair gleaming even under the sickly fluorescent light, and asked, "What was your fortune?"

" 'Let a smile be your umbrella,' " she said, tossing the crumpled bit of paper into the carton with the fork. "Isn't that banal?"

He remembered that he hadn't read his own fortune and started working on that again.

"I'll keep an eye out for your friend," Trish said, gathering up her trash.

"Thank you."

She rapped on the door and it clunked open immediately. "Good luck on the trial."

And with that, she left.

Beast was escorted back to his cell, eating the cookie and furiously running over scenarios in his mind on the way. All of their leads on the professor were dead ends. Mystique had taken him somewhere, and they had no way to learn where. All he had left to hope was that Storm or the students had figured the plan out and were taking steps to end it.

He was going to brood over it all night, he knew.

His fortune, as it turned out, was "Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate."

He thought that was quite timely.

* * *

Notes: "Half a bagel and lite cream cheese": Alert X-Files viewers will no doubt remember this line from  
the hysterically funny episode "Bad Blood."

"I wasn't tall enough to see through the window": paraphrased from an awesome Golden Girls  
quote. Many thanks to Alhazred for providing the original. :)


	20. 20

The new day brought with it the beginning of the defense's real attack. Beast had taken to calling their approach the "amicus humani generis" argument, which had brought some odd looks from the lawyers the first time he'd used it in front of them.

" 'Friend of'... what? Not 'the court', and the rest of my Latin is rusty." MacKenzie said, more intrigued than puzzled. " 'People'?"

" 'The human race,' " Beast corrected. " 'Friend of the human race.' "

Rabb raised an eyebrow. "Friend of humanity, in other words. You like irony, Doc?"

Beast shrugged, an unapologetic half-smile on his face. "It has its uses."

Whatever they called it, it started off with a bang. The first witness for the defense was Dr. Moira MacTaggert, who was testifying from Scotland via satellite. She would establish the scientific side of their case, because although Beast was perfectly qualified to do so himself, it would've looked strange to have the defendent as an expert witness.

Rabb led her through the preliminaries, which were mainly concerned with her credentials and the basics of mutation and evolution.

"The current view of evolution is based on a theory by Gould some thirty years ago," she explained, speaking clearly despite her strong Scottish accent. "It's called 'punctuated equilibria.' Basically, it holds that evolution occurs in quick bursts and jumps in between long stretches of no change. Right now we're in one of the punctuated bits. Evolution is jumping forward again."

"Is that normal?" Rabb asked.

"Oh, aye. Well, to an extent. You have to bear in mind that _Homo sapiens_ sapiens is a very young species. If you picture the time that primates have existed on earth as a clock, then modern humans appeared at five minutes 'til midnight. There's nothing odd in continued evolution - several variations of australopithicus appeared during its time, each of them equipped  
for certain areas and conditions."

"But we've heard testimony that there's nothing functional in these new mutations. There's no special adaptation for one set of conditions? Can you explain that?"

MacTaggert scowled slightly, irritated at the question in a scholarly sort of way that Beast could appreciate. "Whoever said that doesn't know a single bloody thing. Evolution is only one half of the equation. The other part is natural selection. For example, a boy born with gills and webbed feet is an evolutionary fluke. A mutation, an abberation - until the polar ice caps melt and the world's flooded. Then gills and webbed feet are the ideal adaptation, and little Johnny becomes the new human archetype. Until natural selection acts upon it, evolution itself is useless." She paused for a moment, then added, "You could even say that these mutations are beneficial in the long run. Humans have astonishingly little genetic variety; folk with bird wings and laser eyes and so on can only add to the richness of the gene pool and our ability to adapt."

"What about Dr. McCoy? You've had a chance to review his charts - what about his mutation?"

"It's fairly extreme, with some pronounced morphism in his skeletomuscular systems. There's also some enhancements in the olfactory and auditory systems, and there's no forgetting the blue fur. Not the worst I've seen, though, not by far." She paused again, and flashed a rueful smile. "If you're asking, what is it good for, I have no idea."

Rabb smiled at the TV screen, although Beast could tell that he wasn't exactly thrilled with the answer. "Does his mutation make Dr. McCoy inherently dangerous?"

Dr. MacTaggert considered the question for a moment, forehead crinkling in deep thought. Eventually, she said, "No. He's no more inherently dangerous or violent than anyone else, and having spoken to the man on a few occasions, I'd have to say he's less violent than most people."

"Objection," the prosecutor put in. "Is the witness a psychologist?"

Judge Green apparently agreed. "Sustained."

Rabb asked a few more questions, then turned MacTaggert over for cross-examination. The lead prosecutor picked at the punctuated equilibrium theory first, asking if it was accepted by all scientists, to which she was forced to reply that no, it wasn't. Her attitude became noticibly more brusque after that, although she answered the next ten minutes of questions with even-tempered civility.

Then the prosecutor dared to go so far as to imply that her credentials were lacking. That ended the civility right there, and Dr. MacTaggert told him scathingly that if he doubted her word, he could maybe talk to the Nobel committee that was reviewing her work this year.

Beast had to choke down a smirk. The jury liked it too, thank heavens. So did Judge Green, who didn't bother to hide her quick, amused snort of laughter. The prosecutor wisely gave up and retreated to his seat, red-faced.

Rabb called the next witness, and the rest of the day proceeded in a series of failed coups for the prosecution. Things were going very well indeed.

* * *

Notes: Stephen Jay Gould - with Niles Eldredge - did indeed create the idea of punctuated equilibria, which combines certain aspects of gradualism and catastrophism, in 1972. It's a brilliant theory, IMO, and it perfectly supports the X-verse concept of sudden species-wide mutations.


	21. 21

The next two days saw the rest of the defense witnesses in quick succession. The logic, Beast gathered, was that because the prosecution had given such a speedy presentation - whether they wanted to or not - the defense had better do the same, or risk the appearance of stalling.

Of all the witnesses who rushed through the stand, Dr. Patronete proved to be the best, remaining calm and collected even in the face of a zealous cross-examination. Evidently being a Bigfoot researcher had given him an immunity to people accusing him of lying, and he kept to his story without varying overmuch. That was a stroke of good fortune for the defense, because Patronete's testimony was crucial; he was the only one who had seen Beast's unambigously good deeds firsthand, and if the prosecution had gotten him to crack, it would have been difficult to undo the damage. All this was explained to him a relieved aside from Commander Rabb that night, right before his lawyer imparted some more advice.

"When Mac puts you up on the stand tomorrow, remember that you're not there to blind everyone with your intelligence - you're there to awe them with your humility and honesty. And the courtroom is not a classroom, so don't slip back into any bad teacher habits. Juries do not like being lectured to."

Beast accepted all of that with a nod and a grateful thanks. His testimony was inevitable, it was vital, it was the only thing that could really guarantee a win, and he was extremely nervous about it. To be perfectly honest, he was scared out of his wits. To carry his own fate was not something he liked to do; it was one of the reasons he'd quit football. The only time he'd tried to change things for the better, it had backfired and left him with years of sporadic, agonizing pain and eventually, a lot of blue fur.

So he told himself that the only thing he could do was try his best, and if he fell flat on his face, then his lawyers would just have to come up with another approach.

It was a lie, but he was fairly good at lying to himself, and he entered the courtroom on the fateful day with a cautious sense of confidence amid all the nervousness.

The first thing MacKenzie did was to stand up and hand a sheet of paper to Judge Green, saying, "Your Honor, before Dr. McCoy testifies, we would like to enter into evidence a contract he signed earlier this year."

The judge took the paper, slipping on a pair of glasses to read it. As she did, her eyebrows hiked up.

"As you can see, this contract has a strict confidentiality clause that expressly forbids him to discuss the activities, faculty, and students of the private academy where he now works. Because of this, we are requesting that no attempts be made on the prosecution's part to question Dr. McCoy about his workplace."

The prosecutor, with an audible note of disgust, flung his copy of the contract down and said, "Your Honor, that is the most ridiculous-"

"Dr. McCoy," MacKenzie said, loud enough to drown out the prosecutor but not quite loud enough to be rude, "has stated to myself and Commander Rabb that he would rather stand contempt charges than be forced into breaking an oath to his students."

They weren't just lawyers, Beast decided; they were spin doctors par excellance. How else could she turn a suspicious refusal to talk into a noble endeavour? He straightened in the chair and tried to look noble in order to move the game along.

"You're not going to talk about any of this?" Judge Green ask him point-blank, waving the contract like a flag.

Beast shook his head. "Respectfully, no, Your Honor."

"Even though I could slap another charge onto your list."

"It would be a violation of the students' rights to privacy. I could not do it in good conscience without their permission."

"And your dream team has already fixed that good and well," Judge Green said, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. No one's going to ask Dr. McCoy about the school. Got it?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor replied, looking more than a little miffed.

MacKenzie started it off with a life-in-summary questions, asking him to tell them about his childhood, his adolescence, college years, the job at the Brand Corporation, and everything in between. She had him explain his mutation, and the steps he'd taken to prevent his ultimate transformation, right down to the chemicals he'd used in his serum and how it had tasted. That part wasn't fun - it made him more than a little ashamed to admit to denying his mutation - but he did it, and he thought he did it well.

He kept his answers clear and succinct, trying to not talk down to the jury while at the same time trying to be as accurate as possible. Rabb had warned against treating the courtroom like a classroom, but he found that his teaching experience came in handy. Answering out-of-the-blue questions from students had given him a solid ability to think on his feet.

The only bad spot during her questioning was the persistant itching of his suit collar - a small but continous annoyance that made him even more on edge than he was already. When the prosecutor got up to do the cross-examination, Beast had to forcibly calm himself. This was it. Time to be a hero and save himself.

He wished again, fleetingly, for Trask to send in a Sentinel. That kind of saving was so much easier.

The prosecutor asked a few typically inane questions, then launched into his real offense. "Are you a genius, Dr. McCoy?"

"According to standardized intelligence tests, I am."

"What's your IQ?"

"It's something around 150, I think."

"157. You skipped several grades of school, didn't you?"

He shifted, a little uncomfortable now that he could see where this was going. "Just three."

"Did the other kids pick on you? Call you names?"

"Yes. I believe the most common was 'hey, you big ugly brain, why'd you ruin the grading curve'."

At least four people in the jury chuckled at that.

"That make you mad?"

Beast reflected on it for a moment. "At the time -? It made me sad. I wanted to fit in - I just couldn't figure out how to do it."

"Kids who were dumber than you picked on you, called you names, made your life miserable, and you only felt sad? There was no anger there at all, no resentment?"

"No," he said, quite firmly. "If anything, I felt sorry for them."

The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. The jury did not look impressed, and MacKenzie winced slightly.

The prosecutor jumped on it. " 'Sorry'? Because they weren't smart enough? Because they were poor stupid Homo sapiens?"

"Because they were intolerant," Beast shot back. "The same reason I feel sorry for Dr. Trask and for you, although I realize you're just trying to do your job."

MacKenzie's eyebrows rose into a hastily smothered expression of amused surprise.

Closer at hand, the prosecutor was flustered. He paused in his questions and blinked a few times before retrieving a stapled bunch of papers from his table.

"I have here a sworn affadavit from Edward Kelly regarding your last day at the school." The prosecutor handed Beast the paper. "Have you seen this document before?"

"Yes, I have," Beast said, handing it back and folding his hands in his lap once again. Kelly had been unable to leave Bayville High School for as long as the trial would require, the story went, so they'd gotten a statment from him instead. As good as testimony, apparently.

"Is it an accurate statement?"

"As far as I know. I wasn't seeing events from Mr. Kelly's perspective."

"That's right, you were too busy pulling a Jekyll-and-Hyde act and rampaging through the school."

"Objection," MacKenzie cut in. "Is counsel going to ask a question?"

Judge Green said, "Sustained."

"Sorry, Judge." The prosecutor smoothed his tie. "Did you drink a chemical mixture that caused you to turn into a furry blue monster?"

"Objection!" MacKenzie said again, this time more forcefully.

"Sustained." The judge gave the prosecutor a warning look. "Watch your tongue."

"I'll rephrase, Your Honor. Did you drink a chemical mixture that caused you to mutate further?"

He was no longer sure if it had been the botched serum; a conversation with Xavier some time ago had made him wonder if perhaps the mutation would have surfaced that night anyway. Some forces of nature could only be held in check for so long. Nevertheless, he answered, "Yes."

"Was that intentional?"

"No, not hardly."

"You have a doctorate in chemistry. How did you unintentionally do something like this?"

Beast sighed. "I... was in a hurry. I miscalculated."

"But you did pursue Kelly, didn't you?"

"That night," Beast said precisely, wanting everyone to understand, "is a blur. I remember very little. If Kelly says that I pursued him, I'm not going to doubt his word. It is a duly sworn affadavit."

"You pursued him in a blind rage because for the first time in your life, you had a chance to take out all that anger and aggression and fury that had been building ever since those kids back in grade school bullied you. Isn't that right?"

Beast had to laugh, although he swallowed it and managed to only grin. "Oh, please. What is this, a leftover from the Hulk psychoanalysis? No, it's not right. I got out any pent-up anger years ago, on the football field."

A quick expression of startlement passed over the prosecutor's face, followed by an ever briefer expression of "oh" as he put the pieces together. Evidently he'd forgotten about the football.

The question had been asked and answered, but Beast decided to continue. "I was quarterback some nights, and a lineman the others - I played all over the field, and I got to smash into more people than I ever might as a raging supervillain. I was also part of a team, which was the most valuable part of the experience."

One of the jurors - a middle-aged man wearing a t-shirt with an SEC team's logo on it - nodded thoughtfully and with a visible gleam of respect in his eyes.

The prosecutor had returned to his table yet again, this time to flip through his notes and hastily confer with the other attorneys. After a bit of whispered talk, he straightened and said, most unhappy, "No further questions at this time, Your Honor."

MacKenzie stood and strode back out to the witness stand. "Dr. McCoy, one quick question. Have you spoken to any of the people who used to tease you as a child?"

"Yes, I have," he said. "Several of them, all of whom laughed and apologized for their actions. In fact, one of them testified here on my behalf."

MacKenzie nodded briskly, the picture of military precision. "Thank you. The defense rests, Your Honor."

Judge Green looked at the clock, and at the setting sun outside, and adjourned the court for the day.

MacKenzie assured him that he wouldn't have to take the stand again, but if he did to look out for the prosecutor, who would almost certainly have a nasty trick ready next time.

The day was rounded off by yet another call from Commander Rabb, this one coming at close to midnight.

"We've, uh... we've had some more trouble."

Beast was suitably alarmed by the man's tone. "Trouble?"

"Someone tried to break into the apartment and take the kids."

"Did they?"

"No." Rabb chuckled, a bit of amazement creeping in. "The kids cleaned the floor with them. But they've been moved to a safehouse."

"A safehouse?" He was, Beast reflected absently, a little tired of asking questions. Just once he wanted to be on the side in the know.

"Provided by Webb," Rabb said. "But he's the kind of friend that brings more trouble than he's worth, so Mac and Sergei are there now, keeping an eye on things. I'm patching holes in the plaster - Evan caused more damage than anyone."

"Any indication of who the attackers were?"

"Yeah. They belong to Bolivar Trask. One of 'em is the man who tried to kill Trish Tilby."

Beast sat back, not at all shocked. Hadn't he suspected as much for days now? Trask was a fanatic; he'd go after three dangerous mutants in a heartbeat, whether they were kids or not, and especially if he thought they'd slighted him in some way. The only part that surprised Beast was how long it had taken Trask to find them. Rabb and MacKenzie had covered their tracks well.

"...cops have turned them over to the FBI," Rabb was saying. "Who in God's name would send professional assassins after three kids?"

"Bolivar Trask," Beast answered, grim. "Are you sure they're safe?"

"As safe as we can make them." Rabb shifted gears. "I'll see you in court tomorrow for closing arguments. Goodnight, Doc."

The flat hum of the dial tone made poor company for his thoughts.

* * *

Note: The warning against treating the courtroom like a classroom was inspired by a comment made by Dr. William Maples in his excellent book, 'Dead Men Do Tell Tales,' a model of lucid and gripping writing if ever there was one. My fave chapter was the one on Pizarro's skeleton.


	22. 22

Closing statements were no more interesting than opening statements. At least not where the government's were concerned.

Beast had to force himself to not fall alseep during the prosecutor's endlessly rambling diatribe. He tried not to think, either, because if he thought, then he'd have to pay attention to what the man was saying, and the first dozen minutes had shown that the closing was going to be a headache-inducing maze of bad logic. He had all the headache he needed already, thanks very much.

But for the defense's closing statement, he started listening.

"At the beginning, I told you that this trial was not about the mutant issue," Rabb said, slowly pacing in front of the jury and pinning them each in turn with a typically intense gaze. "That it was not about whether or not mutants are dangerous. It's still not. This trial is about the guilt or innocence of one mutant - one man - who has voluntarily given himself over to the authorities, who has willingly aided the pursuit of justice at every turn, who sits here now trusting in America's judicial system to prove the truth: that he has done nothing wrong.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, on behalf of Colonel MacKenzie, myself, and Dr. McCoy, I thank you for your time and your careful deliberation of the evidence we've given you."

And with that, he nodded at them and sat down.

The jury was stunned for a moment, then erupted into scattered murmurs and exclamations over the brevity of the speech. The government's closing statement, after all, had lasted well over an hour.

"Short and sweet," Rabb whispered to Beast, giving a quick half-grin. "They'll remember."

They most certainly would, Beast thought as the jury was led out of the room. Especially when compared to the legal droning from the prosecutor. He smiled back at his lawyers, pleased with the one final trick they'd pulled from their sleeves.

Judge Green said, "Court will adjourn until the jury gets back with a verdict, and God help us if that hotel they're staying at has cable TV. Doctor, it was... something, having you in my courtroom."

He chose to take it as a compliment. "Thank you, Your Honor."

She banged the gavel one last time, and the trial was over. The spectators began to leave, as did the prosecutorial team, who looked uniformly displeased and made no attempt at pleasantries with their opponents.

Rabb and MacKenzie exchanged a few quick, quiet words amongst themselves, sprinkled with subdued laughter - Beast caught the words "wonder if they'd hire Singer" and "she'd be their idol," although he had no idea what that meant - then turned to their client.

"That's it for us," MacKenzie said. "We'll be back for sentencing, and appeals if necessary, but there's not much more we can do for you."

"I don't suppose you could walk me out?"

They smiled. "Sure."

But the trio didn't even make it out of the courtroom right away; they were met at the back of the gallery by Webb - in a different nice suit, but wearing the same slightly sour expression - and two men that Beast vaguely recognized as having been present for most of the trial.

Webb introduced them as FBI Special Agents Fred Duncan and Carl Denti, then pulled the lawyers away to hold a whispered conversation. Beast was left standing in front of the two federal agents. Duncan was the older of the two, and plainly the more seasoned agent. Denti looked like more like his protege than a partner.

Duncan shook Beast's hand without hesitation. "Doctor. Best of luck to you. This's been a heck of case for everyone, hasn't it?"

"The FBI is investigating?" Beast asked, wondering why he was surprised.

"Of course. It's domestic terrorism," Denti said. His tone was polite, but only just, and there was an undercurrent of dislike that made Beast a little uneasy. Denti made no move to shake hands, either.

Duncan appeared not to notice Denti's words. In the same friendly manner, he said, "Our investigation should be wrapped up shortly. Say, as soon as that verdict comes back. Funny thing with this case, isn't it, how you can't tell who's the bad guy until then."

"Oh." Beast cast a glance at his lawyers, hoping they would come and retrieve him from this rather uncomfortable spot, but they were still deep in muttered conversation with Webb.

"You know," Duncan said suddenly, looking thoughtful, "I believe I've met you before."

"I can't imagine where."

"No, I did." The thoughtful look vanished, replaced by a more complex layering of emotion that Beast couldn't decipher. "It was years ago. Charles Xavier's house - if you can call that mansion a 'house.' You were a senior in high school."

He didn't know why he even bothered to be surprised anymore; it was happening with depressing frequency these days. "You know Professor Xavier?"

Duncan smiled suddenly, a broad, warm expression that was tinted with genuine respect. "Sure. If you ask me, the man's a saint."

Scowling, Denti elbowed into the discussion with a curt, "Sir, we really need to get going or we'll miss that meeting."

"Right." Duncan shook Beast's hand again, smiling broadly. "Say hello to Charles for me if you get the chance. I haven't spoken to him in years."

Denti flashed him a dark look over his shoulder as the two agents walked away. Faced with such mixed signals, it was all Beast could do to call out, "Uh, sure."

Rabb and MacKenzie finally ended their conversation with the spy and returned. "Ready to go, Doc?" Rabb asked.

If ever there was such a thing as a foolish question, that would've been it. "Absolutely."

They started walking for the exit, S.H.I.E.L.D. guards in their usual phalanx around them. MacKenzie said, "You might be less excited when we tell you where you're going."

He looked from one face to another. "Oh?"

"Back to Quantico." Rabb shrugged apologetically. "Trial's over. The only thing left to do now is wait for the verdict, and the powers that be want you to wait-"

"Back at Quantico," Beast finished for him. "It's just as well - I was starting to miss feeling like a hamster."

MacKenzie laughed. "I thought they looked like museum exhibit cases, personally."

"Ah, to be a hamster, or to be a specimen under glass," Beast started, paraphrasing, then grinned and shook his head. "At least I'll be safely removed from attacks by you-know-who."

"I don't know - there's intelligence, and there's common sense. I think he may not have a lot of the second kind."

"It doesn't take much to know that attacking Quantico is stupid, Harm," MacKenzie countered. Rabb just shrugged and let the guards escort them out of the building proper. Beast had made this excruiating trip from the courthouse to the truck every day for far too long. He wouldn't miss it.

This time, for the first time, as he emerged from the door into the outer world, he heard Trish calling out, "Hank!" over the usual din of the media crews.

Beast stopped and looked around for her, finally spotting her as she elbowed her way through the crowd. He nodded at the S.H.I.E.L.D. guard's unspoken question, and the soldier swiftly collected Trish, bringing her to stand just outside the wall of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

"Nice posse," Trish said, giving the S.H.I.E.L.D. guard and the lawyers an entirely insincere wink and smile. She stuck a tape recorder in his general direction and said, "Hey, Hank, I've got to know: what do you think is going to happen with the verdict?"

"I have no idea. The government made a good case. I'm hoping it confirms my innocence, but I really don't know."

She tucked the tape recorder away, beaming. "You're the best, Blue. And my secret mission today is to tell you that I'm getting yanked off of this to cover something up in NY, so I won't be here for the end. Hang tight, okay?"

"I will, thank you." He gave her a smile, which she returned before vanishing back into the melee.

"We'll call the second we find out the verdict," Rabb promised as the S.H.I.E.L.D. guards turned their prisoner back over to the Marine guards' capable hands.

The rear door of the vehicle slammed shut on his view of the lawyers, and that was the end of that.

* * *

Notes: Singer is JAG's resident witch - as Harm once said, "That's Lt. Witch to you" - and I absolutely adore her character. She's so... refreshingly antagonistic.

Fred Duncan was Xavier's liason with the U.S. government for years. After his death, Carl Denti went just a little psycho and used Duncan's collection of mutant-related artifacts and weapons to become the X-Cutioner. Now, of course, there's somebody else running around as the X-Cutioner, but what the heck. I tell you what, nothing says "convoluted" like an X-verse bio.


	23. 23

And thus began the slow frustration of the waiting game. Back in his plexiglass cell, sealed away from the outer world, Beast passed the time by going over the periodic table - first the abbreviations of the elements' names, then their full names, then their atomic numbers, then their atomic masses, and then their valence numbers. Then, after he'd gotten tired of that, he started making up defensive and offensive plays for various NFL teams, some of whom sorely needed his advice, if their preseason games were any indication. Running the ball was out this year, he decided.

All of that occupied his time until somewhere around midnight. At that point, the guards changed again, and Holtz and Fullham came in, Fullham looking rather sickly.

"Hello," he said to both of them, ready for something other than purely intellectual time-wasting. "Are you all right, Lt. Fullham?"

Fullham coughed and said, "Been worse. It's just a cold."

"We can't talk to you while we're on duty," Holtz reminded Beast. "Sorry."

Beast sighed, accepting the minor cruelties of the world. "It's okay. But I would like to talk... Are you allowed to listen to me reciting Shakespeare?"

Holtz nodded. Fullham coughed.

Beast cleared his throat and, after a moment's thought, launched into one of Horatio's speeches in _Hamlet_. He agreed with the critics who called the play one of the Bard's lesser creations - it being a hodgepodge of other plays and theatrical traditions about the ill-fated prince of Denmark - but he'd always liked it for the sheer overbearing melancholy. Everyone died. It was really quite sad.

" 'Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands/ Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:" - Beast cast a quick glance at Fullham, who was looking more ill with each moment; sick with eclipse, ideed - "And even the like precurse of fierce events/ As harbingers preceding still the fates/ And prologue to the omen coming on/ Have heaven and earth together demonstrated/ Unto our climatures and countrymen.--/ But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!' "

After Horatio, he jumped to another long passage, and then another. He'd just gotten to Hamlet's signature soliloquy regarding the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, identifying all the way, when Fullham moaned, put a hand to his head, and swayed alarmingly.

"Bill?" Holtz said, immediately going over to him and putting his hands on the other soldier's shoulders to hold him steady. "Bill?"

Fullham moaned again and collapsed, white as sheet. Holtz bit off an exclamation and managed to catch him before he hit the cement floor. "For the love of... I told him it was more than a cold."

"Perhaps you should call for medical attention," Beast said, peering anxiously through the glass at the fallen Marine.

Holtz, who had laid the unconscious Fullham out in the standard safety position, stood and sighed. "Yeah."

But he made no move to do so. Instead he pulled out a plain plastic rectangle, the size and shape of a credit card. With a sudden twinge of unease, Beast recognized the card as the key to his cell.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," Holtz said, sliding the keycard through the lock. It beeped and the door clicked open. "No resistance, please."

Beast hung back for a moment, calculating. Holtz had always acted as a tentative ally, admitting his sympathy for the childrens' plight from the very beginning. It was not unthinkable that he would now free Beast. On the other hand, Holtz's expression was grim, and he was fingering his rifle with obvious anxiety. Perhaps he merely feared the consequences of this action.

But Fullham's illness seemed entirely to coincidental for Beast's comfort.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Beast said, and reluctantly left the cell.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Holtz said, prodding him towards one of the small side doors of the warehouose. The tone of his voice confirmed Beast's darker suspicions. This was not a mission of mercy. This was something bad.

He stepped out into the warm night air making plans. The restraints around his wrists would hinder the average human, but not someone who could write with their feet and leap thirty feet into the air from a standing start.

Those plans for escape were dashed when he realized who was waiting for them: a small army of private soldiers, armed and armored to the teeth, and at their forefront, the malevolently smiling figure of Dr. Bolivar Trask.

Beast stopped in his tracks and hissed at Holtz, low enough for only the Marine to hear, "Lieutenant, this is wrong! You can't possibly turn me over to him!"

"I can and I am," he said, slightly louder, forcing Beast to start moving again, and then dropped his voice. "It's the only way to keep my niece safe. Trask found out about her, threatened me. He'll cross her off his list if I hand you over."

"You know that they're going to kill me," Beast shot back, torn between despair and empathy for the man's hopeless position. "At the very best."

"I know," Holtz murmured, barely audible, "which is why I called for legal advice."

Beast had no time to follow up that mysterious statement before they reached Trask. The scientist was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary and greeted him with a hearty, "Ah, Doctor McCoy. How nice to see you again."

"The feeling isn't mutual," Beast informed him.

Trask's smile only widened. "Restrain him."

Four of his goons moved closer, and Beast tensed to fight. In the half-second before all hell broke loose, distant headlights washed over them, freezing the action, and the deep whine of an engine blueshifted rapidly in their direction.

"You promised we would meet no interference," Trask snapped at Holtz, who shrugged.

The car came to a squealing stop admist a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. Beast saw it was a bright red Corvette, a newer model, and realized that this was no base security patrol. The passenger door was flung open almost before the forward momentum had stopped and a familiar figure burst out with gun drawn. "Freeze!" Commander Rabb shouted.

"Legal advice," Beast repeated happily, comprehension dawning. A pleased look flickered over Holtz's face and disappeared just as quickly.

Rabb stepped toward Trask's group with his gun aimed squarely at Trask himself. "You are trespassing on a United States Naval base!"

Colonel MacKenzie emerged from the driver's side of the Corvette with her own weapon firmly held. "Drop your weapons NOW!"

Trask's goons were well-trained. They didn't wait for a signal from their leader before opening a barrage of fire on the two lawyers. Bullets pinged off of the Corvette's hood and reduced the windshield to a web of cracked glass. Rabb and MacKenzie, though, managed to stay unharmed and even returned fire.

In the confusion, Beast saw his opportunity. He yanked the restraints apart, sending bits of metal flying, and leapt into a backwards flip.

In mid-jump, he heard a unfortunately familiar noise - a muffled thwump - and then heard it again. He landed and saw, much to his horror, that Trask had not come unarmed. He had come armed, in fact, with one of the guns that had captured Beast and the three students in the first place, and he had just pinned down both Rabb and MacKenzie in twin green shells.

Now Trask turned around, looking for him, and Beast jumped again, a bit desperately, pushing off for the concealing line of Marine vehicles on the other side of the warehouse.

A split-second later, as his feet hit the asphalt, the gun thwumped once more and his world was encased in a thick layer of solidifying green goo.


	24. 24

Beast awoke with a pounding headache and the buzzing sound of people talking. It took him a moment or two to make out Trask's voice among the buzz, and then he groaned.

Trask, Trask, Trask. He was really starting to hate that man.

"- the lab and tell them to scrap this line of sedatives," Trask was saying. As per usual, he sounded like someone had just said something disparaging about his mother.

"Sir, are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Trask snapped. "It should have lasted another hour. This one doesn't even have a 'healing factor' to screw up the dosage."

What Beast already knew, and what Trask had evidently just realized, was that his biochemistry had been altered rather severely as a result of his "accident." Well. A silver lining to every cloud, it seemed, if he was now able to cheat Trask's attempt to drug him.

"Get up," Trask said, prodding Beast none too gently with one booted foot and breaking his train of thought. "We all know you're awake."

"In that case," Beast said, struggling to a standing position, "may I say 'good morning' to all of you gentlemen, and a hearty _'seig heil!_' to you, Dr. Trask."

Trask scowled.

A guard stepped forward and deftly punched Beast in the stomach with the butt of his rifle. In terms of sheer pain, it wasn't the worst he'd ever felt - not by far. But it was unexpected, and it left him slightly out of breath and curling over the impact site.

Trask said, "That clever mouth is going to get you killed, mutant."

Beast kept looking at the floor, mostly because he didn't want to see Trask's sour face any more than he absolutely had to. "So I've heard. Can I ask where we are?"

"Revisiting the scene of your crime," Trask said, standing some distance away with his hands behind his back. "Your lawyers aren't here, McCoy. There's no one to help you squirm free of the justice you deserve. There's no CIA agents breathing down my neck, trying to destroy with red tape the same thing you tried to destroy with force. No, you're all alone now... and you're going to pay."

The guards closed in and forced Beast to walk forward and stand next to Trask, and as it turned out, onto a platform that began descending. The narrow elevator shaft soon opened up to reveal a massive, metal chamber that was easily several stories tall. Beast recognized it instantly.

The phrase, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire," crossed his mind. All he said, though, was, "This is... the Sentinel lab?"

"My life's work." Trask paused for a moment, looking out at his creation with an almost paternal fondness. In that moment, Beast caught sight of something glinting on the floor. Metal against metal - difficult to notice unless you were looking straight at it. But once you did notice, it became obvious.

A paperclip.

The cuffs on his wrists were electrified, but they were still handcuffs, and they still had a lock. And, one summer long ago, a young Hank McCoy had had a short-lived career as a magician. Ultimately, his chem set had proven to be more enthralling than the magic kit, but the seven-year-old had become rather proficient at slipping out of handcuffs. He'd never quite forgotten how it was done. Time to put that rusting skill to use.

He hunched over again and goaned slightly, as if the punch still hurt, shifting his stance as he did so. None of the guards seemed to notice that his left foot came to rest on top of the paperclip.

Trask had finished waxing nauseating about his precious facility and was now moving onto what was no doubt his favorite subject: himself. "- didn't lie in court, you know. I did work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I was their best weapons engineer - I built dozens of systems and platforms for them, all beyond cutting-edge... It was my last project that opened my eyes."

Beast resisted the urge to say something disparaging about the man's mother, but only just. "How so?"

The elevator came to a halt, but Trask made no move to leave, and neither did the guards.

"Nothing earth-shattering," Trask said, a hard, angry glint coming into his eyes. "I just watched a team of 'paranormal' agents at work. It was then that I realized what a menace you mutants were."

Beast curled his toes around the paperclip. "Not all of us are evil."

Trask gave him a mirthless smirk. "Yes, that is the party line, isn't it? You and that Weapon X reject, all spouting the same disgusting lies."

"If we all say the same thing, maybe it's because it's true."

Trask's face hardened into a stony expression of disdain. "Take him to the Sentinel. We need to do a diagnostic run now that it's been rebuilt."

The guards pushed Beast forward. He took a step and immediately stumbled, transferring the paperclip from his foot to his hand in the same motion.

"No stalling," Trask snarled, pushing him forward again. Beast complied, all the while manuevering the bit of metal into the lock on his handcuffs.

"I don't suppose you have any way of knowing this, Dr. Trask," Beast said, making conversation as he clicked the paperclip into the final obstacle between himself and escape, "but when I was in first grade, I learned how to write with my feet."

Trask looked suitably confused. "What?"

"They're prehensile," he continued. "They always have been. Of course, they've become even more exaggerated since I fully mutated. Mine's a physical mutation, you see. Not like Wolverine, who got all the nifty things like strength and healing with no real outward change. No, I just had big, strange feet. It drove my mother crazy whenever I needed new shoes."

He felt the lock give way, and finished, "So you see, I've had a long time to perfect certain tricks. Such as straighting a paperclip using only my toes."

He gave Trask only a split second to begin understanding what he meant. And then he brought his free hands up, grabbed the scientist bodily, shoved him into the crowd of goons behind them, and ran like mad.

His flight was unplanned and indiscriminate. He had no idea where he was going, and the hallways he bounded down did nothing to help him solve the mystery, as they were all unmarked.

The guards shooting at him didn't help very much either.

He tore down one hall, pushing off of the wall to slingshot around a corner faster than any on-foot turn could be made. The new hallway had a series of obstacles in the form of three lab-coated minions just emerging from a heavy door with yellow-and-black warning stripes around the edges. There was no way to avoid a collision - and really, who would want to pass up the chance to knock three of the bad guys on their posteriors? - so Beast altered his path just enough to bowl them all over. He lost much of his momentum in the process, and was poised to take another leap when he heard someone say, "Beast!"

Beast's head whipped around. There, inside the room, confined in a massive piece of equipment that looked like the evil grandchild of the iron lung, was none other than one of the X-Men's missing persons.

He promptly entered the room, tugging the door shut behind him. "Wolverine!"

"What're you doin' here?"

"Being pursued," he said, rather out of breath. The footsteps of the guards were becoming audible, even though the door. He heard someone shouting for more weapons. "Nice to see you're still alive."

"Yeah, whatever," Logan said, making a strained attempt to break free. "Turn off the power to this thing and let's go."

Beast scanned the control panels, discovering quickly that he had no idea what any of the buttons did. "I don't think I have enough time to figure out-"

Wolverine snarled, exasperated, and practically shouted, "Just pull the flippin' plug, McCoy!"

"Oh." Beast looked around and saw the power cord snaking across the floor to connect with the wall. He lifted it and pulled, hard, but nothing happened. He was just gearing up to try again when the door burst inward and an alarming amount of gunfire entered. One of the bullets hit the cord in his hand and he dropped it amid a shower of sparks.

This was not a defensible position. He was going to have to move or die in a hail of bullets. Bonnie Parker he wasn't, so he called, "Sorry. I'll be right back," to Wolverine and made a break for the other exit before the goon squad could shut that down, too.

Wolverine snarled again behind him.

Beast ran fast, jumping as often as not, and led the guards on a wild chase down several corridors, along several catwalks, up several flights of stairs, and, suddenly, into the big open space that he'd fled from in the first place. This time, not being on the lowest level, he saw a door with the telltale sign, "EXIT: STREET."

Trask lost points on subtlety. Beast threw himself into a breakneck charge aimed squarely at the door, only to be brought to a screeching halt by Trask's loud announcement of, "You have three seconds to surrender or the Sentinel will be deployed!"

Beast turned around, facing the guards with a feeling of deja vu. Trask was standing confidently on a catwalk, obviously hooked up to a PA system of some kind. He looked smug.

Beast cast a desperate glance at the door and the freedom that lay beyond.

"Last chance," Trask boomed.

Several dozen rifles cocked.

Beast drew himself straighter. For once, words escaped him; there was no way to verbalize the anger and defiance and determination rising and swelling like a wave inside him. So, instead of a witticism or an apt quote, he threw back his head and roared.

It was a good roar, a deafening roar, louder than he thought he could make it, and it rolled around the metal chamber several times before fading out.

Trask waited until the last ringing echoes had died before speaking again. "Such courage," he said, voice flat and devoid of human emotion. "I believe I'm going to gag."

A quick, fluid shadow dropped from the ceiling and landed behind Trask, putting him in a chokehold with one arm. The other arm - or rather, the fist - went to the side of the man's head, where it stayed despite Trask's brief, ineffective struggle.

No claws were out, but the threat was plain.

Wolverine growled, "I _believe_ you're gonna lose some internal organs, bub."

* * *

Notes: "And a hearty 'seig heil!' to you": paraphrased from a comment by Beast to Graydon Creed in UXM #299. The full quote is as follows...

Beast: "Elton, Senator, Professor - greetings. And a hearty 'sieg heil!' to you, Mr. Creed!"  
Creed: "Poke fun if you'd like, Dr. McCoy, I'm-"  
Beast: "-a racist?! It would take a more ignorant man than me to argue such a point! Though I confess I didn't recognize you sans your hood and robes. Might I suggest a logo? A burning DNA symbol, mayhap?"

Stumbling to pick up a paperclip: a tactic used in the JAG episode "Wilderness of Mirrors" (or "Impostor," I forget which) by that diabolical Palmer as he was being led into Leavenworth.

"Such courage. I believe I'm going to gag": spoken by none other than uber-villain Skeletor (cue evil laughter) in the 2002 version of the _He-Man and the Masters of the Universe_ cartoon.


	25. 25

"Good timing," Beast said.

Wolverine grunted in acknowledgement and tightened his hold on Trask, who was now keeping preternaturally still. "Okay, Trask, this is how it's going to work. You and me and Beast are gonna walk out of here with no trouble."

"I don't think so, genetrash," Trask spat.

Wolverine pressed his fist closer. "You might wanna think again."

Trask, to his credit, did not cave. "If either of them make a move to the exit, shoot to kill," he ordered in a clear, firm voice.

Wolverine forced him to take a step forward. No one fired.

"It's a good thing your boys think for themselves," Wolverine told Trask, smirking in an appropriately intimidating display of gleaming incisors and canines. "See, when I get hurt, I get mad. And when I get mad, sometimes the claws slip."

Trask swallowed, some of the wind leaving his sails. "You can't believe you're going to get away."

Wolverine snorted, unimpressed. "Beast?"

"Still here," Beast said. He was altogether delighted with the turn of events.

"Go ahead and walk out the door. If any of these punks even twitch their trigger fingers, they're gonna be out of a job."

The last part, proclaimed in a louder and more steel-edged tone, had the intended effect. Beast moved cautiously to the door, anticipating a hail of bullets in his back. Nothing happened, however.

"Tell him the code," Wolverine snarled, tightening his arm around Trask's neck.

Trask choked out, "1-4-0-7-G-L-S-C."

Beast keyed it in and pushed the door open, seeing the cityscape beyond with incomparable joy, and then turned around. "Wolverine?"

Wolverine pushed Trask another few steps forward. "Right behind you."

Beast turned back to the open door and debated whether or not to exit without Wolverine. If he left now, it was possible that the guards would try to overwhelm Logan and take Trask with force.

"Get moving, Beast!" Wolverine barked behind him, and that settled things as far as he was concerned. He took the last step to freedom and heard, with mixed feelings, the sound of police sirens approaching.

"Ah, Logan -?" he called over his shoulder. "You may want to hurry."

The flashing poice lights came into view, surprisingly close - little more than a half-mile away. Judging by the sheer amount of red and blue, the entire New York police force had turned out. There was no doubt as to where they were heading, either.

He turned to tell Wolverine to hurry again, but saw there was no need. Wolverine - and Trask - were almost to the door. As Beast watched, Logan shoved Trask away and dove for the exit.

"Shoot him!" Trask yelled, still on the floor.

"Oh dear," Beast said.

Wolverine hit the ground outside and flipped up into a standing position before the dust had finished rising - but not before the guards had started firing. Beast scrambled out of the bullets' path, pressing himself against the side of the building right next to the door, and hastily kicked it shut.

Wolverine, his uniform showing a few new bullet-shaped tears, popped his claws and jammed them into the lock mechanism on the door, shorting it out. "That should hold 'em until the cops get here. Let's move."

"Sounds like a plan," Beast agreed, and they escaped into the night with sirens wailing all around them.

* * *

Notes: "Sometimes the claws slip": my favorite Wolvie line from X:TAS. He says that to the Thieves' Guild punk in "X-Ternally Yours." With a nice lil' fake Cajun accent, too, so it comes out more like, "Sometimes... de claws slip." Mm-hm.

1407GLSC: try "1407 Greymalkin Lane, Salem Center." And if you have to ask who lives at that address, you can no longer call yourself an X-Men fan, especially not a 616 X-Men fan. Sorry.

"Oh dear": the favorite exclamation of Constable Benton Frasier, RCMP. I know I'm not the only person in the world who loved _Due South_. (_"She shot my hat, Ray." "She shot you in the hat?" "I can feel air coming in through the hole.")_


	26. 26

Six blocks away from Trask's building, Wolverine came to a screeching halt and ducked into an derelict storefront. Beast followed; his eyes, used to the neon-lit alleys and side streets, took a moment to adjust in the nonexistent light within. But the sound of a claw popping was unmistakable, as was the wet rip of flesh.

"Logan?"

"Fine," came the answer, along with a bit of gore-covered metal that landed at Beast's feet. Wolverine nudged it with his boot, but didn't crush it. "They put this tracker in my neck right after the Sentinel blew. Must've known one of you guys would be comin' to get me. Let 'em think we ain't found it and we're dumb enough to stay in one place."

"Good idea," Beast said, glancing down at the tracking device and then up at the rapidly closing wound in Logan's neck. A useful power, that.

They left the storefront and continued hugging the shadows. The sirens were still present, but none were bearing down on them, and Beast began to wonder what kind of trouble Trask was giving the cops.

"So bring me up to speed," Wolverine said after they'd gone another dozen blocks.

"It's a long story."

Wolverine gave him a look that clearly said, "and what else is there to do?"

So Beast told him, in quick chunks between shadow-skulking, starting with being chipped free by the Marines. He went into great detail about his Mystique-Xavier theory, which Logan agreed to after a few moments of thought. He described, briefly, how Rabb and MacKenzie had come to be his lawyers - Wolverine had a reaction not too dissimilar from Rogue's at that - and the trial process. As dawn colors began appearing in the sky, he also explained that the students had been taken into safekeeping.

That piece of news netted a ferocious "WHAT?" and a hand digging into the base of his throat.

"I didn't have very many options," Beast said, forcibly removing the other mutant's hand from his fur. He was stronger than Logan, a fact which he didn't care to demonstrate very often, most likely because he was still in a bit of denial. But it was exactly like the joke about the 800-pound gorilla: he went anywhere he wanted to.

"Now we have to get them back," Wolverine growled.

"Of course." Beast looked around, hoping for a payphone, and for once his prayers were answered. A graffiti-bedecked and rather damaged phone booth was not too far away. "We'll need some change."

"You don't keep quarters in those swimtrunks?" Wolverine said, still mad.

"Not usually," Beast said mildly.

Wolverine grunted and stalked off into the shadows. "You're the genius - you figure somethin' out."

Beast watched him leave with eyebrows raised. Then he shrugged and returned to the conundrum facing him. What to do, what to do... He could always call collect, but he disliked that idea. He owed the lawyers so much already.

A store's lights flickered on not too far away, and Beast decided to risk a trip inside to inquire about a phone, or at the very least a few cents.

He approached the door with care, not wanting to seem threatening, and lightly rapped on the glass. A young man in his twenties appeared a second later with an irritated look on his face - one that swiftly changed to alarm, and then recognition, and then curiosity.

Beast cleared his throat and called through the glass, "Ah, may I use your phone?"

The man looked behind himself in a quick double-take - the classic "who, me?" move of a thousand and one cartoons - then took a few wary steps toward the door. "We're not - uh, we're not open. Yet. Uh, today."

"I understand, but this is an urgent call."

The store clerk was chewing on his lower lip, plainly nervous about letting in an obvious mutant. "You're that guy on the news, right? The one on trial?"

Beast nodded.

"You're not going to kill me or take me hostage if I let you in, right? Or smash up the store?"

Beast gave him the closest thing to a paternal smile he could muster at the moment. "Young man, I could shatter this glass with one finger. If I was interested in harming you, I would've done it already."

The man hesitated a moment longer, looking over his shoulder at something Beast couldn't see, then fished out a string of keys from his pocket. "Yeah, I guess so."

Beast waited for him to unlock the door and leap back to a safer distance, then slowly and non-threateningly pushed it inwards and walked inside the store.

"I don't know if the phone is working," the clerk was saying as he retreated a yard for every foot Beast moved forward. "It's been kind of weird lately."

"In that case, I suppose I'd have to ask you for some change for a payphone."

"Oh." The clerk looked visibly relieved and darted over behind the counter. "Just give me a second. Hey - what are you doing out anyway? The trial's not over yet."

Beast smiled without showing his teeth. "I know."

The clerk - Beast was now close enough to see that his nametag read "Mike" - was unsettled by that, but he started opening the cash register and counting coins. "Uh - how much do you need?"

"It's a long-distance call," Beast said. A shifting mosaic of color on top of a shelf behind the counter had caught his attention, and he squinted; Trask had not been thoughtful enough to kidnap his glasses. "Is that a TV?"

"Yeah, you're the big story," Mike said, gathering up dimes and quarters. "This is pretty cool, you being in here. If you're really you, I mean. Everyone's been glued to the news for weeks."

"Could you turn up the volume?" There was no way to improve the clarity of the image besides squinting harder, which he did.

"Sure." Mike did a quick, thoroughly gymnastic maneuver where he reached up, back, and over, changing the volume without taking his attention off of Beast or the open cash register.

The channel was ZNN, and two talking heads were sitting in front of a large graphic bearing a glowing DNA helix, a gavel, and the words "MUTANT TRIAL."

Honest, if a little bland for such a sensational topic. He didn't know whether to feel amused or disappointed.

The tag under the male anchor read "Stuart Dunston," and Beast realized that this was the man that Trish was trying to unseat. Who she perhaps already had unseated. After all, what kind of demotion did it take to go from senior war correspondent to manning the pre-dawn news desk?

Dunston was saying, "-go now live to our correspondent Trish Tilby, who's been covering the trial since it began. Trish?"

The picture of the studio was replaced by a live shot of Trish standing outside somewhere. She was smiling brilliantly despite the early hour; a smile so blinding that it took Beast a moment to recognize the location as a building that he'd spent a significant amount time in. "Right here, Stuart. I've been told that the jury has just returned its verdict after only a single night of deliberation. Now, we're still not sure what the verdict is, but I spoke with some people earlier who hope the outcome is in Dr. McCoy's favor."

The footage cut to a previously-recorded shot of the same location. This time, the schoolfront was illuminated by flickering candles cupped in the hands of a small but sizable crowd of people. It was an equal mix of children and adults, and Beast felt at once like laughing and like crying. Bayville, it seemed, was a town that forgave - at least partially.

"I don't see why he's on trial in the first place," a girl was telling Trish's microphone indignantly. "It's not like having fur makes Mr. McCoy a monster."

With a start, Beast recognized the girl as Amanda, a decent student who had lately come under attention from the Institute's adults for dating Kurt. Apparently she knew what Kurt looked like beneath his image-induced hologram, and didn't care. And apparently her tolerance was applicable to other mutants as well.

"He was one of the best teachers we had at this school," Amanda continued. "And he never hurt anyone - I don't care what the papers are saying."

"This touching candlelight vigil was held by Dr. McCoy's former students and other concerned community members," Trish's voice said over shots of the crowd standing around and looking peaceful. One of the shots - a long, lingering one - was of Amanda lighting a candle for Trish to hold.

If there was any last ember of doubt in Henry McCoy's mind about Patricia Tilby and her place in the world, it died a quick and painless death at that scene.

Mike coughed, jerking Beast's attention back to the present. The change was lying on the counter in a small, stained silver pile. "Here you go. That should be enough."

Beast scraped the proffered change into one hand and nodded. "Thank you."

Then he left the store as slowly and carefully as he'd entered. The door swung shut on Mike's sigh of relief.


	27. 27

The call did not go through on the first try. Beast, minding that the verdict had reportedly just come in, decided to wait for a while before trying again. He did so from the anonymity of a shadowed doorway, hiding from the rising dawn light and the eyes of the world. Mike poked his head out of the store a few times, but never appeared to see Beast in his hiding spot.

The call did not go through on the second try, either. Both times Beast hung up before an answering machine or voice mail could pick up; it would've wasted his change, and with their client missing, he doubted his lawyers were going to be screening their calls. Assuming that they'd gotten free of Trask's goo.

Wolverine was nowhere to be seen. Beast was optimistic that the other mutant had not let himself be recaptured by Trask. That train of thought led to one whereupon he pondered what was likely to become of Trask now, with his Sentinel factory exposed by a police raid. He'd go to trial, hopefully. But that made him wonder who had called the cops to begin with. An inside job? Maybe. Trask's goons didn't seem to be the type to turn on their employer.

On the third try, made a full hour-and-a-half after the first, the other end of the line was finally picked up, and Commander Rabb's voice said, "Hello?"

"Commander," Beast said, feeling a metaphorical whoosh of relief that was nevertheless almost palpable.

"Doc," Rabb said, his tone instantly changing into something more intense. "Where are you?"

"New York, apparently. How did you and Colonel MacKenzie get free of the paralytic goo?"

"Lieutenent Holtz. He cut us out as soon as Trask's boys left." Small talk dispensed with, Rabb moved on. "NYPD said they didn't find you at the Sentinel lab. What happened?"

"I arranged an early release. The sudden descent of the police force helped." An idea occurred to him for the first time. "Was that your doing?"

"It was. When Holtz called us, we called Webb. He had Trask's van followed, and once we had an address, we sicced New York's finest on him."

"Brilliant," Beast said, truly grateful.

"Yeah. And you should be glad to learn that Holtz is swearing up and down on his mother's grave that you were taken against your will, so there's no new charges on that count."

"Is he going to be punished?"

"A few weeks' loss of pay, most likely. I hear the JAGs are inclined to go easy on him," Rabb said with a trace of humor. "Now, Trask on the other hand... Mac and I were talking about pressing assault charges, but on top of the tresspassing and all of the things the cops found, it's not really necessary."

"What did the cops find?"

"That Sentinel parts are hard to get. Black market hard-to-get. There's over a quarter of a million dollars in stolen or misappropriated equipment in the labs, and that's not counting what they've got stockpiled in storage. They've got him nailed."

Beast didn't know why he'd been hating his life. Surely there was no reason to be unhappy, not with such delicious and poetic justice in the world. It was almost worth being hauled off to trial, imprisoned, kidnapped, chased, and threatened. He filed Trask away as a villain to be concerned about in a few years, once his parole came up, and returned to the conversation with a more important question: "And what about the children? Did Trask try to get them again?"

"No, although he tried." Rabb made a noise that was half amusement and half anger. "He didn't know that they weren't in D.C. anymore."

"They're not?" Beast said in surprise, before he could stop himself. "Then where are they?"

"New York. You're closer to them than I am."

Well, that certainly made things easier. Beast took a deep breath. "Commander, please, let me take the children. I know it's illegal, and I know I'm an escaped felon-"

"Actually, you're not," Rabb cut in.

He didn't dare to believe in the implications. "What?"

"I just got out of court. The jury came back with 'not guilty' on all counts, except for the one about damaging city property. The judge listened to Mac and decided time served was enough. You're a free man, Doc."

Sweeter words had never been spoken. Beast felt himself collapse slightly as the burden of the case was lifted from his mind and spirit. "Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done. I can't repay you."

"You just did," Rabb said, gravely serious, "and the kids will be there ASAP."

Before the lawyer could could hang up, Beast said, "Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"Was Trask right? Did you do this for her?" He didn't think he needed to identify the "her."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. Then Rabb sighed. "Yes and no. I did it because I knew you weren't guilty, and you didn't deserve to be punished just because of your genes. But a lot of people know about Mac, what she can do... Now that this mutant issue is out, someone might try to charge her." His voice hardened slightly. "I wanted a precedent. And I got it."

The calculating, manipulative nature of the entire trial suddenly became clear to Beast. He was not surprised. He was not disappointed, either, although he had suspected he might be. The man's motives were good, and he had done nothing more sinister than killing two birds with one stone. Things had worked out well for everyone. Why ruin it with moralizing and speeches about ethics? "I appreciate your honesty, Commander."

"Have a safe journey, Dr. McCoy," Rabb said simply, and hung up.

Beast also hung up the phone, stepping out of the booth and into a world that was streaked with daylight colors.

Wolverine, wearing civilian clothes that he'd acquired somehow, was waiting for him and handed over a large, plain trenchcoat and a broad-brimmed hat. "Here. Don't ask where I got 'em, 'cause you don't want to know."

"Thank you." Beast slid the coat on, this time not finding it quite so odd to be wearing normal clothes again. "The children should arrive shortly."

Wolverine grunted and found a battered, graffiti-laced wall to lean against. "I can think of worse things to do than waitin'."

Beast tipped his head up to catch the risen sun, feeling freedom warm on his face. "So can I."


	28. 28

Note: And here it is, people! The last chapter. Whew - I was starting to think I was never gonna finish this thing. Really. I started it way back in May, and here I am, posting the last chapter only a few scant hours before the new season starts (mwha-ha ha ha! I beat my self-imposed deadline! Take that, me!). Anyway, now that I have finished, I thank each and every person who reviewed, and Al for persuading me that it was worth un-shelving and finishing. Oh, and my muse for not abandoning me in the middle of it. She does that sometimes, you know.

* * *

_"But that's last year's story. This year - today - it's all about mutants."_  
- J. Jonah Jameson, Uncanny X-Men #346

* * *

Less than two hours later, a nondescript black van with laquer-black tint on the windows pulled to a stop in front of the payphone. Before Beast and Wolverine could step forward, the driver honked cheerfully and rolled down the window. "Hank!"

"Trish," he said reflexively, startled. "What are you doing here?"

The side door opened from within, revealing Rogue and Evan in the middle bench. Fred took up the entire rearmost seat. The students looked happy to be out of government custody.

"I'm your ride. I took a sabbatical," Trish said, flashing a sunny smile. "I know, I know, it's going to kill my career, but Evan tells me he's not too bad with a camera, and just think of the story I can cover!"

Evan, one eye glued to a small digital camera, waved. "Hey, Teach!"

Beast waved back, somewhat at a loss.

"An insider view of the mutant revolution, right from the front lines," Trish went on, relishing every word. "It's the ultimate in combat journalism. I wouldn't miss this chance for the world!"

Wolverine, Beast noticed suddenly, was grinning. "What?"

The other X-Man shook his head. "I'm just tryin' to figure out what you've really been doing these last weeks, McCoy."

And with that, Wolverine climbed into the rear of the van, taking a seat in between Evan and Rogue. "Hey," was his only word of greeting to them, but the two X-children responded with visible and audible affection. Beast understood the feeling; it was one more piece of their fragmented family reunited. Even Fred seemed happy to see the older mutant; perhaps the boy would come over to their side after all.

"Come on, Hank," Trish said, patting the passenger seat. "Get in the car and let's go find a mutant war to film!"

Beast hung back, hesitant for some odd, ill-defined reason. He wanted to go, but a part of him was still in the courtroom listening to testimony, was still in the glass cell waiting out the hours, was still trying to escape from Trask, and he found it hard to fathom that he was free to get in the car and reclaim his life as an X-Man, fighting alongside his teammates and students for a better tomorrow.

"Hank, if you don't get in the car right now, I'm going to embarrass you in front of your teammates," Trish threatened, a mischeivious grin ruining the effect.

He couldn't brood under the force of her smile, but he did frown and ask, "That's an incentive?"

"Have it your way," Trish said, shrugging, and in one quick, fluid move, she unfastened her seatbelt, slid across the passenger seat, landed lightly on the pavement in front of Beast, and kissed him soundly.

The children thought it was uproarious. Wolverine made a noise that might have been a swallowed burst of laughter. Beast could only freeze in complete shock. Mutation aside, the last time someone had kissed him was... years ago. Not since Vera had broken up with him in his last year as a grad student. It was still a lot of fun, he realized.

Trish, her face less than an inch from his, grinned and said, "Get in the car, Hank. You people have a fight to win."

And so he got in the car.


	29. Ficlet: Take 2

And just for the heck of it, here's a post-"Recovery" ficlet in the same vein. Okay, a slightly different vein. Okay, a _very_ different vein. I wrote it in two minutes, so it's not awesome, but like I said, what the heck.

Oo, and I want to point out the things that "Recovery" did that I did in "Amicus": glass cells, outing the kids on the news, S.H.I.E.L.D., and stealing an aircraft back from the military. I am so totally psychic! :makes a big deal out of sheer coincidence:

* * *

The moment that Harm stepped into the JAG bullpen that morning, Sturgis was at his side, saying, "Morning, Harm, did you see this thing on TV?"

Harm, who was running late as usual, gave his friend an exasperated look and said, "Sturgis, I don't have a TV, remember? Of course not."

Sturgis was not deterred. "Then have you read a newspaper lately?"

"No. Why? What's going on?" Harm asked, beginning to be alarmed by the knowledge that he'd missed something big. Maybe he should get a TV.

"Clueless as ever, huh, flyboy?" Mac said behind him, a smile in her voice.

He turned around and gave her the same exasperated look. "Good morning to you, too, Mac. Seriously, guys, what's going on?"

Sturgis looked at Mac. "You want to tell him? This is more up your alley anyway."

She raised her eyebrows. " 'My alley?' I have three visions and it becomes my alley?"

Harm cleared his throat, not quite so alarmed anymore, but curious as hell. "Guys."

Mac shrugged and said, "Oh, a twenty-foot robot rampaged through downtown New York and there's superhuman mutants living among us. That's all."

He had to check to make sure they weren't joking. Sure enough, both of their faces were dead serious; Sturgis could fake it, but not Mac, and that convinced him they were telling the truth. Still... "What?"

Mac nodded. "Yup. The Army took five of them into custody."

The two Navy men and the Marine exchanged identical glances of disdain at the thought of the Army.

"They're in for quite a haul, it sounds like," Sturgis added.

Harm thought about it for a minute. "Huh. I hope they get good lawyers."


End file.
